


The King's Ransom

by artemisia3000



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Begging, Dom/sub, Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Requited Love, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Self-Denial, Slow Burn, Smut, Submission, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 58,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemisia3000/pseuds/artemisia3000
Summary: Consideration (noun): Something of value given by both parties to a contract that induces them to enter into the agreement to exchange mutual performances.Months after the Battle of the Five Armies, it is clear that the people of Dale will not make it through the winter without assistance. Bard travels to Mirkwood to secure aid from Thranduil. There was little that the new King of Dale would not do for his people so when Thranduil offers him aid in exchange for Bard remaining with him for two weeks, Bard does not think twice about trading himself in exchange for his people’s survival, if he has understood his terms correctly.What begins as a brief affair slowly turns into something more. In a slight reversal from the usual formula, this is endless smut from start to finish with a slow-burn romance underneath. I will be adding more tags as I update the story.
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil
Comments: 120
Kudos: 173





	1. Chapter 1

In the bloody aftermath of the war, the sound of steel on steel still ringing in his ears in a cacophonous pitch, he raced to see that his children were safe before painstakingly scouting the battlefield for survivors. Bard distantly looked for the Elvenking but beyond seeing from a distance that he had survived, they had no real contact. There was no time. He was tired – extremely tired – and there was only so much he could do before collapsing from exhaustion, all of his remaining energy spent on helping his people. 

He had hoped to speak with Thranduil, to discuss what comes next and thank him for his assistance, without which many of his people would have surely perished, whether from hunger or by the blade of an orc, but to his disappointment, the Elvenking and his retinue were gone by the time he had a moment to himself that did not belong to his children or his people. The next few months raced past him in a flash. They would settle in Dale. They would rebuild the ruined land. They would crown him their King. 

They would starve to death before the first snow of winter settled. 

This is how Bard came to stand before the King of the Elves in his simple riding attire, less threadbare than what he wore before but still more functional than decorative, feeling entirely out of place surrounded by the unimaginable opulence of Mirkwood’s throne room as Thranduil lounged on his throne in a spectacular gown of rich gold and ruby silks that spread around him elegantly, as if coming to settle around him with a will of its own.

“Welcome, King of Dale,” Thranduil spoke in a deep voice, his eyes glittering with something very much akin to amusement.

“Just ‘Bard’ is fine. I have no need for titles,” Bard replied quickly.

“But your people do, or they would not have crowned you, and this is why you must wear the title, even if you refuse to wear the crown.”

Bard nodded reluctantly. He knew Thranduil was right – from on his limited knowledge of him, he usually was when it came to these matters – but this did nothing to banish the discomfort of finding himself in the position of pomp and circumstance.

“So, how can I assist the King of Dale?” Thranduil asked with a heavy emphasis on his title, as if he sought to irritate Bard further, or just make a point.

“I came to thank you for the aid you have given our people at Erebor. We would have doubtlessly lost many without your supplies and the support of your elves in battle. The people of Dale thank you.”

“I accept their thanks,” Thranduil smiled with a hint of mischief as he stretched his crossed legs off his throne and reclined further. “But do _you_ thank me for my assistance?”

Slightly unbalanced by the question, Bard replied, “Of course, my Lord. I sought you out in the aftermath of the battle to express my gratitude in person but you had already left.”

“Pray tell,” Thranduil practically purred. “Were you disappointed that my early departure had robbed you of the chance to, as you say, _express your gratitude_ in person?”

Bard was surprised by Thranduil’s seemingly lecherous tone, and it unnerved him even as he felt a slight thrill run down his spine. He wondered whether it was a strategy designed to unsettle him and throw him off balance, as the Elvenking must have surely known that Bard did not come all this way merely to say thank you, so he tried to not to let himself be distracted by him, even as some part of his mind appreciated the futility of the task.

“Of course but I hope you do not take offence when I say that I have had little time to dwell on such things when the difficult circumstances of our people demanded my undivided attention and many urgent tasks to ensure our survival lay ahead of me.”

“So this is why you are really here,” Thranduil stood up and towered over Bard with the full majesty of his height as he tilted his head. “I suppose I should feel aggrieved to be characterised as an ‘urgent task’ but as it happens, my curiosity has won out over my pride this time.”

Bard did not think anything had ever won out over Thranduil’s pride but he kept this to himself.

“What is it that you seek?” the Elvenking continued.

“A treaty between our nations. For trade and assistance; beneficial to both parties.”

“Beneficial to both parties?” Thranduil sneered in a way that would have seemed harsh on anyone else but was so characteristically Thranduil that Bard found himself not minding. “What can Dale possibly offer Mirkwood? My advisers inform me that Dale is rich only in timber, which as you can see from the lush forest surrounding us, we do not require, and honey, which our people do not eat. What other riches does Dale have, except its newly-crowned King?”

Bard was momentarily startled by Thranduil’s lascivious tone and the appraising look the Elvenking was currently bestowing upon him, even as it filled him with warmth, though he was still unsure as to whether this was a strategy to unnerve him or whether he misunderstood his words but after struggling to collect his thoughts as Thranduil’s gaze on him never faltered, he continued. He was here on important business and he would not be thrown off course by Thranduil’s games.

“We have other goods to trade. Wine, for instance. Our vineyards will produce—"

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m familiar with the grapes you have planted,” Thranduil said impatiently. “The first batch will be adequate and may one day be good but I am not concerned with wine. I have wine. Tell me, King of Dale. How desperate are your people’s circumstances, exactly?”

“I did not say that they are desperate,” Bard stiffened. “Perhaps I merely wished to establish trade between our people.”

“No.”

“Pardon, my Lord?” Bard’s face crinkled as he was once again thrown off balance. 

“No,” Thranduil enunciated the word as if speaking to a child, “that is not why you are here. If you _merely_ wished to establish trade you would have sent an adviser. For the King of Dale to come knocking on my door, things must be very dire indeed.”

“Please just call me—”

“ _Bard_ ,” Thranduil smiled in a way that reminded Bard of a snake.

It was at this point that Bard decided to try honesty. He knew that he, a man whose most important job to date had been carrying wine barrels across a body of water, who was raised with neither the expectation of becoming a ruler, nor the training that usually accompanied such expectation, stood no chance of beating Thranduil in a game of misdirection but he had hope that perhaps the Elvenking was kinder than the legends suggested, which he was inclined to believe because of the way he helped his people before and the way he treated Bard in the few interactions they have had. Bard took a deep breath before continuing.

“The destruction of Laketown and the subsequent war has taken a great toll on our people. We are rebuilding Dale from ruins. Our people may not survive the winter.”

“I see,” Thranduil smirked as if he expected as much all along. “So you came here to seek charity?”

“Charity? No, my Lord. We do not seek _charity_. We seek a fair exchange. Dale will offer whatever you wish in return, of equivalent value to what we require.”

“Anything?” Thranduil asked dangerously, making Bard frown. He was not sure what he had in mind but clearly it was something of extreme value.

“Anything that is in my power to give”, Bard replied simply, honestly. Perhaps unwisely.

Thranduil paused to think about the proposition for a moment before announcing, “Mirkwood will send a caravan of food, medicine and other basic supplies sufficient to support your people through the winter. The caravan will be accompanied by a small contingent of our warriors who will provide a small cache of weapons and train your people to defend themselves until you are able to establish permanent fortifications.”

Bard sighed in gratitude before cautiously asking, “And what do you desire in exchange?”

“You, King of Dale,” Thranduil answered in his low, gravelly voice.

Bard could not help the minute shiver that coursed through his body at the intensity of Thranduil’s gaze. His mind naturally raced through all the possibilities of what the Elvenking could mean but only one conclusion presented itself. But surely this is not what the Elvenking had had in mind. 

“My Lord?” He finally asked, seeking clarification. Perhaps he was mistaken.

“I desire your company. That is the price of my aid. Remain at Mirkwood for two weeks as my guest and I will consider the debt paid.”

He supposed that was as much clarity as he was likely to get and as the Elvenking continued to look upon Bard with the same look — hungry, possessive — Bard believed he understood what would be expected of him, in broad terms, if not specifics. What was he prepared to do to save the people who now looked to him for help, whom he gave an oath to protect? The people who now faced starvation, many of whom were unlikely to live through the winter without Mirkwood’s aid? Anything, anything it took. He would give his life for his people. Giving his body surely paled in comparison to that, if that is what was being asked of him, even as it filled him with vague sense of jittery unease. Resigning himself to Thranduil’s will, he began to consider the practicalities.

“If this is what you demand in exchange for saving the lives of my people, I accept your terms. However, if you will allow it, I must return to Dale with your retinue to put arrangements in place for the care of my children. I will return here within a week and remain with you as you request. You have my word. If you do not trust—"

“Your word is sufficient and I accept,” he replied almost magnanimously, a hint of victory evident in his voice. “Though I would bid you hurry, King of Dale. I do not like to be kept waiting.”

With a sigh somewhere between relief and surrender, Bard bowed slightly before he was escorted out of the throne room by a guard.


	2. Chapter 2

Having accompanied the elves who brought a seemingly-endless supply of food, medicine, blankets, warm clothes and every other basic necessity in immense quantities to Dale, Bard was able to see first-hand the unrestrained happiness of his people at the much-needed aid. Some of his people wept in joy and relief; others were so moved by the gesture that they put their earlier hesitance about the Elven people aside and hugged the startled elves with such enthusiasm and warmth that many of the elves could not resist cautiously returning the embrace with a smile. 

The people of Dale would make it through the winter and Bard knew that he made the right decision, even as he was gripped by nerves every time his mind touched upon the terms, especially as he made the long journey to Mirkwood to fulfil his end of the bargain.

Although he initially appreciated having time to process the bargain he had struck and the part he would be required to play, Bard nevertheless wished that he could just get it over and done with as the time that he spent wondering what, exactly, would be asked of him had his anxiety and nervous anticipation mounting, even as he felt a vague sense of excitement vibrate though him at the thought. He could not stop himself imagining what Thranduil would ask – or rather, command – of him and he felt increasingly dizzy at the possibilities. 

Bard had never been with a man, let alone an Elven one. Though he could appreciate the beauty of a particularly attractive man, he never had any particular inclination to bed one. He had only been with his wife and after she passed, he saw no need to remarry and had no time to take lovers. Still, as inexperienced as he was, he understood the basic mechanics of it all and he did not think there was anything about it that he found particularly distasteful. That much, at least, was reasonably clear in his foggy mind. 

His feelings about Thranduil himself, on the other hand, were decidedly less clear. He felt strangely drawn to him in a way that he had never felt about a male of any race before. There was something magnetic about him, and perhaps it was his regal bearing of a kind that Bard had never seen in another and the hint of danger that accompanied his every word that made him captivating. He was also strikingly beautiful with that tall, elegant but muscled frame, those sapphire-blue eyes and his long platinum hair that seemed to stay in place by the Elvenking’s sheer will alone. Like most elves, he was a captivating combination of masculine and feminine features and Bard wondered whether this dichotomy was the crux of their appeal to so many. However, although he would be lying if he said he was not curious about him in a way that was decidedly inappropriate, he had no intention of exploring his undefined feelings further, had it not been for their bargain. 

When he arrived at Mirkwood, he was greeted first by Thranduil’s guards and then by his attendants, who directed him to his chambers. The sheer decadence of the décor – any item in the room likely worth more than everything he owned combined – made him uneasy in a way that unbalanced him. He was certainly picking up that this would be the theme of his interactions with the Elvenking, or with his furniture. 

“My Lord wishes to dine with you this evening. I will return in an hour to accompany you.” He left before Bard could even thank him.

*** 

After a long bath in a tub filled by hot springs that he was sure only existed in this palace by way of magic, in which he tried to clean all the filth of the road from his body, and changing into something a little more presentable that would undoubtedly still pale in comparison to whatever elaborate ensemble Thranduil was bound to be wearing, Bard was led into the dining hall and directed to the high table.

Sure enough, the Elvenking looked resplendent in a luxurious light-blue gown and a crown adorned with flowers. Bard already felt embarrassed about his simple clothes, though Thranduil seemed happy to see him anyway as he stood up to greet him with a genuine smile on his face as he gestured for him to sit opposite him in an arrangement that felt surprisingly intimate as the hall was almost empty and lit entirely by candlelight. 

“My Lord,” Bard greeted him before taking his seat. “I thank you for the invitation.”

“King of Dale,” Thranduil nodded and, seemingly noting the discomfort it brought his guest, amended his greeting. “ _Bard_. Welcome to Mirkwood. I am pleased to see you.”

Bard was strangely moved by Thranduil’s concession to call him by his name, even as he chided himself for such a strong reaction to such a small thing, but he did not dare return the gesture in case it was too familiar for the Elvenking’s liking. Looking around the hall, he could not help but wonder where everyone was even as his attention was seized by the delicious smells emanating from the dishes, which reminded him of his hunger.

As if reading his mind, Thranduil explained, “My subjects eat earlier in the day, while I prefer the solitude that dining at this late hour affords.” At Bard’s puzzled look, he elaborated, “I love my people very much but every ruler needs time alone. You will learn that, in time.”

“I am learning it already,” he replied with a sigh. “The last few months have been so chaotic that there was always something to do, someone to assist. I do not say that to complain. I am honoured to help. But it is draining.” 

He was not sure why he was admitting all of this to Thranduil but, truthfully, he had no one else he could talk to who could understand the demands of ruling over others, and he could not imagine how this information might be used against him. More than that, he did not think Thranduil would use information against him, though he suspected this was nothing more than a naïve desire to see the best in the people he liked. And he did like Thranduil, he realised, though this seemed like a plebeian emotion to feel about someone as otherworldly as the Elvenking. 

“Do not try to do too much. You will be of no use to your people, nor your family, if you burn out and cannot rule well because you are constantly flitting from one disaster to another. Try to relax a little. Enjoy yourself from time to time.”

Sitting in this elegant hall opposite this elegant King and eating delicious food the kind of which he had never tried before, he found himself truly relaxing for the first time in months and he could not help but smile at his host with genuine gratitude as Thranduil returned the gesture by looking very smug about his part in all of it. He enjoyed the conversation that followed, as the topics started with the most pressing problems in Dale, which Thranduil seemed to counter at every turn with solutions he would never have thought of, until they ended up discussing subjects of a more personal nature, though Bard was the only one who was really sharing. As he had more and more ale, he was struck by just how beautiful Thranduil was, the candlelight illuminating his alabaster skin in a way that made him appear to glow, and it is at this point that he realised that he should probably call it a night.

Suddenly, Thranduil interrupted him mid-sentence and asked, with a glint in his eyes, “Would you like to accompany me somewhere more private for a drink?”

Bard was struck by the boldness of the offer but he supposed now was as good a time as any. In any case, there was something about Thranduil that was particularly alluring tonight and he felt a pleasant warmth from their conversation, as well as the ale. If Thranduil wanted him now, he would be happy to comply. Bard nodded, noting the small smile that graced Thranduil’s tantalising mouth, even as he felt his nerves begin to creep through his body once more.

Thranduil stood up, dismissed his subjects who rose as soon as he did, and made his way out of the hall, turning to make sure Bard was following. He led him down many twisted passages that all looked so similar to one another that Bard was certain he could not distinguish between them on his own, until they came to a sitting room, as spacious and luxurious as every other room in the palace but with its low candlelight, comfortable looking chairs by a roaring fire and personal belongings, also somehow more intimate. 

“This is my private reading room,” Thranduil explained with a small smile as his eyes were fixed on Bard. 

Despite his host’s gracious demeanour, Bard could not help like a deer being stalked by a hunter. He was not sure he liked it, though he did not entirely dislike it either. For want of further instructions, he just stood there and tried – and failed – to relax. All Bard could do was stare as Thranduil glided up to him and fixed him with an intense stare, as if assessing him. The uncertainty of not knowing what came next was making his anxiety spiral. 

“I wish to show you something,” Thranduil whispered, his eyes shimmering with delight, as he reached inside his gown as if to remove it, his eyes still fixed on Bard’s. 

Despite his nerves, Bard found that he very much wanted to see the Elvenking undress and he heard his breath hitch as he tracked the movement though even he was surprised at just how disappointed he felt when he saw that Thranduil was merely removing a parchment from who knows what secret compartments his magic clothes had. He hoped Thranduil did not notice but of course that hope was futile. Nothing escaped the Elvenking’s notice.

“Do not look so disappointed,” Thranduil smirked, “when you have yet to read the contents.”

Taking the parchment from him while trying to keep his hands from shaking, he skimmed the document until he understood its purpose and read the important parts closely. Then he re-read them and re-read them again.

“What is this, Thranduil?” He was too shocked to use a title but it seemed that Thranduil did not mind one bit.

“Exactly what it looks like. I have engaged in some long-distance negotiation, or mediation, depending on your perspective. This is the draft agreement.”

“With the dwarves? The creatures you cannot stand and do not trust?” Bard was incredulous and did not understand Thranduil’s objective in doing all of this.

“With the dwarves, yes,” Thranduil replied as if that was obvious.

“For the benefit of Dale?” 

“The treaty is for the benefit of _Mirkwood_. We can offer things that the dwarves want – not least of which, happy neighbours and a return to peace – and they have things that we want. Chiefly, treasure.”

“How does ensuring that,” Bard replied, pausing to re-read the wording of one clause, “Dale receives its share of the treasure benefit Mirkwood?”

“Mirkwood loses nothing from the equal distribution of the gold the dwarves are currently hoarding. I saw no reason not to include it under those circumstances. Besides,” he added with a sly smile, “Mirkwood also benefits from friendly neighbours.”

Bard was momentarily speechless. Thranduil’s logic seemed sound yet he could not shake the feeling that he was missing something. Was this to be another bargaining chip for the Elvenking? If so, it was a powerful one. Wealth of this magnitude would ensure that Dale would never again have to resort to pleading for aid. It would ensure the long-term safety and prosperity of his people. He simply stared while he considered what to say in response, words eluding him.

Thranduil continued to pin him down with his intense gaze before moving towards Bard, who felt heat rising in his cheeks as he watched, mesmerised, as the Elvenking approached. When they were only inches apart, Thranduil gave him a small smile and held out his hand expectantly. Not understanding what was expected of him, Bard frowned and looked between Thranduil’s eyes and hand, his gaze slipping to his lips ever so briefly on its way down without his knowledge, as he leaned in towards him.

“The treaty,” Thranduil clarified while gesturing elegantly with his open hand. Bard was mortified by how long it took him to process what he said before he returned the papers to his hand as he tried desperately not to blush.

“Of course,” muttered Bard.

“Thank you,” he replied with another small smile and an almost too-formal bow. “I must retire for the night but please remain as long as you wish. The attendants in the corridor will assist you on your way back.”

Bard felt his stomach drop slightly at Thranduil’s departure and spoke before he had the chance to assess his words.

“Wait!” Bard froze briefly when he saw Thranduil turn around with a curious glance. Pausing to take a breath, he continued, weakly, “The drink?”

“Perhaps another time,” Thranduil smiled before striding out of the room, leaving Bard to brood over his unruly thoughts alone. 

*** 

For the next few days, he felt Thranduil’s presence around him at every corner, though he did not know whether this was just the product of his nerve-frazzled mind. He found himself looking out for the Elvenking in every new room he entered and he surprised himself at the disappointment he felt when he could not spot the dazzling blond head that never failed to stand out, even in a room full of beautiful – though in Bard’s eyes, nondescript – elves.

At the same time, he felt hounded by Thranduil’s attendants who seemed to materialise, as if by magic, whenever Bard needed anything. He was used to looking after himself, most of the time with only his children for company, and he found their constant, though intermittent, presence somewhat overbearing. But they always seemed to disappear as soon as they were no longer needed, which should have alleviated the stress of their presence, but in fact only served to irritate Bard further because it robbed him of a good opportunity to ask for more space without sounding like an ingrate. He did not know much about Elven customs and he could not help but distantly worry that in their eyes, he was somehow not behaving as he should, though the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he only felt this way because, even in his short absence, he found himself missing Thranduil, who generally seemed amused when Bard was not behaving as he should and always let him know when this was the case, without ever uttering a word about it.

The Elvenking was never present in the dining hall at the same time as him and Bard could not help but wonder what urgent business could have possibly kept him so occupied for the last three days in a row. When on the fourth day, he found himself feeling unusually claustrophobic in the airy rooms of the palace, he decided it was time to go outside and practise with a bow. By this point, he was not even surprised when just as he approached a servant to ask for their help, he found himself being guided to the archery field, and directed inside a large barn that unexpectedly held a large collection of a variety of weapons, chief among them bows and arrows.

It was only when he made his way to the range that he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise and he knew that Thranduil was nearby and that he was watching him. As he fired the first arrow, he felt the heavy gaze of the Elvenking upon him without even having to look up. He fired another and another and another, each firing true without a single miss. He wanted to look at him but he did not want to give Thranduil the satisfaction. Nevertheless, when he had finally run out of arrows, he had no choice but to turn around for more to fill his quiver and when he did so, he could not help but meet Thranduil’s gaze, who looked at him with a hungry ferocity. Ignoring him, he turned and resumed his training, firing at more challenging targets arrow after arrow after arrow as Thranduil’s gaze upon him began to exert a physical force on his body and he found him aroused, in a frazzled sort of way, putting more force into each shot until he found himself grunting softly as he fired. His whole body vibrated with nervous energy as he felt himself begin to lightly sweat through his tunic, not merely from the exercise.

So highly-strung was every muscle in his body that when he felt Thranduil standing behind him, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from his body, he tensed as he felt himself begin to harden in his breeches, his breathing growing ragged from more than the increasingly-wild force he was devoting to every shot. Unable to take anymore, Bard finally spun round to face Thranduil head on and almost groaned at the sight of pure, undiluted lust in eyes. It seemed that Thranduil took great pleasure in watching Bard practise his craft and that in and of itself made Bard slightly dizzy with desire. 

He watched as Thranduil took a small, fluid step towards him until their chests were only an inch apart as Bard took a deep breath. This was it. Thranduil would now claim his prize. He was surprised to find himself excited at the prospect, even as his heart felt like it was beating fast enough to kill him as he felt suffocated by the tension, and anxiety rippled through him.

“I see the accounts of your skill have failed to do you justice,” Thranduil said smoothly, as though he were entirely unaffected by Bard’s display, though his almost-navy eyes in bright sunlight said otherwise. “You are exceptionally gifted.” 

And with that, Thranduil swiftly plucked his bow out of his hands and spun round to gracefully move towards the armoury housed in the adjoining barn. Bard was so thrown by the change that as he moved to follow Thranduil, he found himself striding towards him in a more impetuous manner than he intended. Ducking inside, he stood at the doorway and waited until Thranduil turned to leave, unintentionally blocking his exit. Bard felt uniquely frustrated and he wanted the matter out in the open instead of stalking him around corners like an errant shadow.

“I do not understand your intentions. You have bargained for me, and I am here, yet all you have done while I have been your guest is tease me. I cannot help but think you are toying with me and I wish you would just take me and put an end to it already and allow my frayed nerves to rest.”

Thranduil raised himself to his full height as Bard saw him stiffen before he quickly schooled his features into a studied mask of aloofness. He paused for several painfully long moments before responding.

“What do you believe I bargained for, King of Dale?” Bard could not fail to notice the shift from first names to formal titles or the way Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. 

“Wh-what?” Bard stuttered. 

“From your perspective of our agreement, what consideration did I demand in exchange for my aid?”

“Myself?” Bard shot back, confused. “My… body?”

“No,” came the cold, unmistakeable, unequivocal response.

“You do not… desire me?” Bard felt even more confused than he was at the start of the conversation.

Thranduil inhaled deeply before he replied in a low, dangerous voice, “Of course I desire you. Even now my mind is assaulted by a myriad of images of what I long to do to you. I neither hid nor manufactured my interest.”

Bard’s breath hitched, though he hoped it was not noticeable. He certainly did not think that the unexpectedly immediate lust Thranduil’s words had stirred in him on top of the beating his senses had taken every time he was around the elf would be conducive to the conversation. This was a contractual matter and Bard wanted to proceed on this basis without revealing or considering his own desires because they had nothing to do with what Thranduil wanted and in any case, they were nebulous, murky and wholly unclear. However, there was only so much control that he could exert over his treacherous body, which appeared to be far more enthusiastic about their agreement than his mind.

“But you did not—” Bard pressed him once he regained sufficient control of his breathing to hide the arousal in his voice.

“If you are asking whether I sought to force you into my bed in exchange for saving the lives of your people, the answer is no. I did not.” Bard could not help hearing _I would not_ implied in Thranduil’s words and felt rotten.

“So when you said you desired my company in exchange?”

“I meant exactly that, King of Dale. You seemed exhausted and I knew the only way I could convince you to relax and enjoy the many amenities that my kingdom offered is if your presence was compelled here. I would have sent the aid regardless. I am not cruel. I have no wish for people to perish if it is in my power to prevent their deaths. Well, your people, anyway. But I admit that I had more selfish motives, too. There are not many who challenge me and not many who do not blindly defer to me in everything. I wished to spend more time with you. I was… curious about you.” 

Thranduil spoke as if it were perfectly reasonable and natural for one to trade away enough supplies to sustain an entire kingdom through a long winter for just two weeks spent in someone’s company. His words floored Bard and filled him with guilt, making him feel even more rotten, and wholly unworthy of the attention of someone like Thranduil. At the same time, he felt a warmth suffuse his body as he was struck by an urge to embrace the elf, as his shame warred with his gratitude and the vague attraction that he felt around him that he could not quite shake off. He spent such a long time imagining what it would feel like to be bedded by the Elvenking that now that the option appeared to no longer be on the table and the associated anxiety dissipated, he did not know what to do with the desire that those thoughts had unmistakeably harboured in him. 

Before he could resolve the conflict, Bard raised his hand tentatively to Thranduil’s cheek before he could even process what his body was doing, who allowed it with a look of curiosity as he watched Bard with an unguarded intensity. Taking that as a positive sign, he leaned in nervously to meet his lips, his eyes closing as he did so while his heart hammered dangerously in his chest. As he continued to reach forward, his mouth barely made contact with Thranduil’s tempting lips before he felt one of Thranduil’s large hands grasp Bard’s jaw in a gentle yet firm grip, as Thranduil swiftly moved his lips out of his reach. As Thranduil maintained his grip in one hand, Bard watched, enraptured, as Thranduil briefly touched his own lips where Bard had kissed him with the other, before he took a long step back, letting his hands fall gracefully to his sides.

“No, Bard,” whispered Thranduil, his expression unreadable. He paused before continuing more formally. “I apologise if I gave you the impression that your people’s survival was conditional on your submission to my carnal desires. If you wish to remain for the remainder of your stay, you are welcome to do so. But if you wish to leave, you may consider your debt paid in full.”

Before Bard could reply, Thranduil skimmed past to leave the barn so swiftly that Bard could barely track the movement. Bard suddenly found himself alone, filled with shame and regret, even as he distantly realised that the exchange left him harder than he had been in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have most of the story written (so far, it's over 17,000 words) so I will be posting new chapters pretty regularly.
> 
> I am still writing it and making changes though so please let me know what you thought of the story so far and what you liked and didn't like. Your kudos and comments sustain me.


	3. Chapter 3

Bard had spent the remainder of the day walking around the palace, attempting to clear his mind and order his thoughts. In truth, he hoped to find Thranduil but had no idea where he would be and he was not sure what he would say to him even if he did. He knew from what Thranduil had told him that there was a feast planned for that evening, though he imagined he would be able to deduce that just from the preparations that whirled around him as he walked around the inner chambers of the palace. It was intended to mark the passing of the season and as far as he knew, they were not expecting any visitors from other realms, though it still seemed a very public place to face Thranduil for the first time since their catastrophic conversation. 

The more Bard reflected on what Thranduil said, the worse he felt about his assumptions. As harsh and borderline rude as he often was, Thranduil had always treated him with respect, in his own way, and even through his condescending remarks, sneers and smirks, he had treated Bard as an equal when he was still little more than a bargeman. He was not so deluded as to think that this made Thranduil a good person, as tales of his temper and lack of mercy in particular situations had spread far and wide. But why did he think he would seek to bed him by inducement, if not force? The more he thought about it, the worse he felt.

He did not see Thranduil for the rest of the day and eventually Bard had no choice but retreat to his bedchamber to make himself presentable for the feast, where he found a set of beautiful clothes hanging up on the armoire. A fitted black silk gown embroidered to resemble the stars in shimmer and a simple pair of extremely well-made deep blue tights which felt luxurious to the touch and fitted Bard like a glove when he tried them on. Bard could have felt ridiculous in the clothes that were likely worth more than half of Dale combined, but he noticed small details that made it clear that Thranduil – and he knew it was Thranduil, for no other Mirkwood elf knew him well enough to have done this – did not simply pick out the most ostentatious ensemble he could find but that he chose each item carefully so it would suit Bard, both aesthetically and in a way that would make him feel comfortable. As he changed and looked at himself in the mirror, his raven waves held back by a black silk ribbon, he did not feel foolish. He only felt more guilty for his earlier assumptions. 

Deciding that he would try to speak to Thranduil that night and put things right, he descended to find the feast had already started, the Elvenking looking majestic at the head of the high table, in a low cut sapphire gown that made his eyes look more intense than he had ever seen them, an imposing crown threaded with rare blue flowers upon his head that only added to his unapproachability and otherworldliness, and Bard was surprised to find his mouth dry and his mind already wandering from whatever thoughts he had when he first walked in the room.

Bard was saved from his thoughts when he was immediately approached by a servant and led to the high table, ushering him into a seat to Thranduil’s left. He was not sure what he expected from his host but as he sat down, Thranduil turned his head just far enough to acknowledge him and offer a short, formal nod before returning to the festivities in front of him with the same detached, controlled appearance he projected to everyone else. The impersonal way he now seemed to treat Bard rattled his nerves but he had no wish to compound his earlier mistake by adding to his ingratitude so he did his best to play the role of the gracious guest, in complement to Thranduil’s own mask as gracious host. It was not lost on him that it was only when he saw the Elvenking treat him the way he treated all others that he realised how differently he had acted towards him before and the thought made him sad in a distant, unclear way.

He was initially grateful for the seating arrangement because it gave him the chance to apologise to Thranduil, if the opportunity presented itself, but the longer the evening continued and the more wine he had to drink, the more he regretted his proximity to him as he was embarrassed to realise the extent to which it affected him. He could not help but turn his eyes towards the Elvenking when he said something in that luxuriously deep voice of his – most of his words naturally directed at others – and he found himself staring increasingly at the elf, before he quickly pulled his eyes in a different direction, lest he give himself away.

“Are you enjoying the feast?” 

He realised he was staring again when he saw Thranduil speak before he heard the words that were clearly aimed at him. Although his voice was as formal as before, Bard could have sworn that he detected a glimmer in his eyes and he could not help but wonder whether Thranduil had caught him staring earlier. Even now, even when he knew a response was required, he could not help staring at the delicate collarbones his gown revealed or the shape of his lips when he spoke, his eyes flitting between the two.

Finally, and much later than was surely appropriate, Bard replied, “I am, thank you. The food is excellent.”

“I am glad, King of Dale,” Thranduil replied with a slight smirk, “that I have been able to sate your appetite.”

Bard’s inebriated mind struggled to process his words even as he felt his heart beat faster. He was sure that Thranduil was toying with him but he was probably too inebriated to assess the matter rationally and even as he felt himself lean in closer as his leg involuntarily brushed against Thranduil’s under the table, he remembered being pushed away this morning and froze, even as Thranduil kept what was by now a scorching gaze upon him. When he saw the final guests at their table rise to dance, he decided that he was sufficiently drunk and Thranduil’s attention on him was sufficiently fixed to try to apologise.

“Thranduil—”

“King of Dale,” Thranduil replied in a low, gravelly voice that made Bard slightly breathless.

“I wish to… I am sorry about earlier. I did not… I misunderstood. I apologise. For making assumptions.”

“Of which assumptions do you speak, Dragonslayer?” Thranduil replied smoothly as Bard felt him press against his leg, the heat radiating from his body making it hard for him to think, as the Elvenking shifted towards him minutely.

Taking a deep breath as he steeled himself for the answer that he knew he had to give, he felt himself blush as he replied, “That you would take advantage of my desperation. That you would… order me to submit to you.”

“In that respect,” Thranduil whispered slowly, so very slowly, as Bard felt a shiver course through him and his flush spread, “you were correct. I would love nothing more than to take advantage of your desperation when you are sufficiently _desperate_ and I would take great pleasure in ordering you to submit to me.”

Bard’s breath hitched and he felt himself grow impossibly hard in his tights as he felt his proximity to Thranduil’s body even more greatly. Any doubts that he might have had had been vanquished by the strong wine that he consumed in great quantities and he felt his body thrum with anticipation. He watched Thranduil lean his lips to his ear until they almost touched flesh as Bard stifled a moan.

“But I only take partners who are _willing_ ,” he whispered into his ear before pulling away and, standing up, waved for the feast to continue in his absence when throngs of elves stood to attention, and glided out of the hall before Bard could process what just happened. 

Left alone at the table with a painful erection, Bard had another glass of wine before asking a servant to lead him to his chamber. The door had barely shut before he found himself stroking himself with an almost-painful grip, Thranduil’s sinful voice still ringing in his ears as he imagined just what it would be like to be commanded to serve at the King’s pleasure, reaching climax faster than he could ever remember since he was a lad before falling into a deep yet restless sleep, still fully dressed in the night-sky silk, his tights unlaced. 

*** 

He saw Thranduil several times over the following few days, each time with others in the room, but he no longer felt his presence all around him. It seemed to Bard that he was avoiding him but he was not sure what he would say or do even if he had him to himself. The very fact that he began to think of the company of others as an obstacle to Thranduil was very damning, in Bard’s estimation, but he was not sure what to do with this information. 

Bard felt himself grow increasingly agitated, though the more he tried to process his feelings, the more flustered he felt. He could no longer deny that he wanted Thranduil but the closer he came to reaching this conclusion, the more he felt Thranduil slip out his grasp until his desires felt unrequited, despite Thranduil’s words in the barn. If this trip was supposed to relax him, it had the opposite effect, as thoughts and images of what it would be like to bed the Elvenking, each filthier than the last, intruded on his thoughts day and night, and he felt uniquely frustrated in a way he had never felt before.

He found his opportunity two days later when he saw Thranduil leaving the dining hall after the midday meal just as Bard was entering. Turning around, Bard strode towards him, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, his mouth dry from a sudden bout of nerves. Upon seeing him approach, Thranduil put his hand out to stop him making contact, as though he could sense Bard’s intentions, even before Bard became consciously aware of them himself. 

“Not here,” he said quietly, before Bard could say a word, and directed him into a nearby room, which appeared to be a small library.

Once Bard closed the heavy door behind him, he sighed when he realised they were alone and looked at Thranduil expectedly, who just stood there – regal, still and detached – watching Bard. Seeing that he would have to make the first move, he took a deep breath to steel his nerves and took a step wards Thranduil. This time, Thranduil did not put a hand out to stop him but neither did he take any other action, simply watching Bard’s approach with an unreadable expression, until Bard was so close that he could smell him, noting with pleasure that he smelled like wildflowers with an undercurrent of something far more elemental and uncontrollable, like a sudden storm on a summer day.

“You do not have to do this,” stated Thranduil pre-emptively. “You owe me nothing.”

Bard did not wish to weaken his own position but he could not stop himself from countering, “I owe you _everything_. How can you say that when you saved many of my people will live because of you?”

“I give my aid freely.”

“And I give myself freely. Can you not put your misplaced morals aside for just a few hours?"

“It is not a matter of morals,” frowned Thranduil, his mouth crinkling around ‘morals’ as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth. “Had I wished to bed you in exchange for the aid your people required, I would think it an exceptionally generous bargain on my part, all things considered.”

“Then why…” Bard was confused.

“It is a matter of _desire_. I do not desire an unwilling partner. I would get little pleasure from someone who did not desire me.” Suddenly, Bard understood.

“But I do desire you,” Bard replied, his voice noticeably huskier than before, even to his own ears. “Why do you doubt it?”

“I have had many lovers who have begged me to ‘put an end to it already’ but none before I had even touched them.”

Bard’s latent lust, which mounted slowly over the course of their brief conversation, exploded through his body as he felt his breathing becoming audibly heavier as all blood rushed downwards and he became tangibly aware of just how much he wanted to find out the meaning of those words. He was struck by the realisation that he did not merely desire Thranduil but that he wanted him desperately, his earlier reservations gone when the possibility of having him slipped away from him. Still, he did not know how to proceed. As he took a deep, ragged breath, he saw the way Thranduil’s perceptive eyes flitted over him and he knew that Thranduil noticed the arousal that must have radiated from his body when his pupils dilated a fraction and he looked at his guest with renewed curiosity. 

“I want you, Thranduil.” 

As the words fell from his lips, he watched as Thranduil closed the final bit of distance between them until they were almost touching, his eyes studying Bard intensely, which only heightened his need as he tried to control his breathing. His blood pumped harder through his body when he observed that he was not the only one affected by their exchange as a light, barely-noticeable flush graced Thranduil’s beautiful cheekbones.

“How can I be sure that you act out of desire and not a sense of obligation?” Thranduil whispered in a breathier tone than before, looking as alluring as Bard had ever seen him, as Bard’s frustration mounted and he felt himself snap.

“You could get on your knees and find out.” 

The words stumbled out of Bard’s mouth before he could stop them. Closing his mouth firmly after they have bolted, all he could do is stare at Thranduil with wide, startled eyes as he felt himself blush deeply. He did not know what possessed him to say that and every muscle in his body tightened in anticipation of the consequences as he steeled himself to be, at the very least, forcibly removed from Mirkwood, too shocked to even form an apology. He had never had a panic attack before but he distantly wondered if the way everything was beginning to feel more detached and surreal, like he was separated from the world by a thick plate of glass, and the increasingly shallow breaths he was taking, signified that one was approaching.

Whatever reaction he expected from Thranduil, it was not this. Still struggling to regain control of his breathing, Bard watched, mesmerised, as Thranduil’s cerulean eyes visibly dilated, his breath hitching almost-silently, as he held his gaze with an almost-frightening intensity for what felt like eternity before he elegantly dropped to his knees, as self-assured as Bard had ever seen him, his ethereal eyes never leaving his. Bard stopped breathing altogether at the sight of the powerful Elvenking on his knees before him, looking up at him through his dark lashes, his eyes glittering with desire. When he finally forced himself to breathe again, almost manually so, the first sound that left his lips was a barely-stifled moan. It had been such a long time for Bard and the anticipation was almost unbearable as he felt his cock twitch in his breeches, only inches from Thranduil’s tempting mouth.

“Like this?” Thranduil tilted his head, a smirk on his beautiful face, before leaning in to mouth Bard’s erection through the cloth, making Bard moan before he could stop himself, his fingers threading gently through his ethereal white-gold hair. He could not believe Thranduil was allowing this but he desperately hoped that he would finish what he started before Bard passed out.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice dripping with arousal.

He felt his breathing grow more ragged as Thranduil raised an elegant hand to his collarbone and, brushing his fingertips over Bard’s chest, deftly unclasped his tunic on his way down to reveal bare skin, briefly teasing a nipple along the way, making Bard gasp. Meandering lower, Thranduil’s hand nimbly unbuckled his belt, before unlacing his breeches and letting them pool at his ankles as he leaned back slightly on his heels, as though examining his work. The hungry look on the Elvenking’s face as he watched the full length of Bard’s strained erection spring up and jut against his stomach made Bard’s stomach clench.

“Have you ever done this before?” Thranduil asked curiously with a look that somehow made him look even more alluring.

“Yes… I mean no. With my wife but not… I have never… with a man. Or, umm, a male, I should say.” 

Bard felt himself blush and prayed that Thranduil was not put off by his inexperience. On the contrary, however, Thranduil seemed even more interested after Bard’s confession, as his eyes widened briefly and he licked his lips in a way that looked almost unconscious. 

“May I?” Thranduil’s low voice sent a shiver through Bard and he nodded vigorously in response.

He stared helplessly as Thranduil leaned in to the base and, inhaling deeply, grazed the length of his cock from root to tip with the bridge of his nose as Bard felt goosebumps erupt all over his body, his hands tightening in Thranduil’s golden hair before he could stop himself. As he closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing once more, he felt a bolt of electricity ripple through him as the tip of his cock was suddenly engulfed by Thranduil’s hot, wet mouth, his sinful lips wrapped tightly around him as he felt his tongue lap at the sensitive underside of the head, ripping a deep groan from Bard’s throat as his eyes flew open and his hips thrust forward involuntarily, only to be restrained by Thranduil’s strong hands. 

All Bard could do was grip his silken hair as he felt soft moans leave his lips, Thranduil’s dextrous tongue driving him wild without taking him much deeper as the urge to thrust into that exquisite heat, impeded by Thranduil’s grip on his hips, became overwhelming. Bard could not help but groan in frustration, causing Thranduil to release the cock from his mouth with an obscene pop that only heightened Bard’s arousal as he looked down on the Elvenking, beautiful and filthy, with unfocused eyes.

“If you want something, you will have to use your words,” Thranduil smirked and immediately made Bard want to destroy his infuriating composure while he himself struggled to even think. 

“I want you.”

“You will have to be more specific.”

“I… cannot right now. I just want you,” Bard replied honestly while he tried to force his mind to focus on what was being asked of him, the thick haze of arousal that was making it so difficult for him to think only mounting as he continued to look down at the tempting sight of the Elvenking on his knees, desperately wishing he would continue but struggling to find the words to express his need.

Suddenly, Thranduil stood up so quickly Bard barely realised what was happened and sauntered over to the door as if he were only in the room to pick up a mislaid item and, upon reaching the doorway, turned briefly to face Bard.

“Come and find me once you have decided,” Thranduil smiled smugly and turned to leave.

“No, wait! Please…” Bard did not care how pathetic he sounded as long as it kept the alluring, devious elf in his vicinity, preferably with his lips stretched once more around his throbbing cock, but Thranduil was long gone before he finished he had the chance to finish his sentence. 

Bard was left half-naked in an empty room, dumbfounded and almost keening from unsatisfied desire. He wanted Thranduil with an almost-frightening intensity and every inch of his body was currently aflame with the desire to go find him and tell him what he wanted so he could finally find some relief. However, Bard was too uncertain about what it was that he wanted – aside from Thranduil, that is – to have any confidence that any plan he attempted would succeed. Besides, it was only mid-afternoon and Thranduil would likely be tending to the business of the realm. He could hardly run into a council meeting and describe in graphic detail what he wanted the Elvenking to do to him or what he wanted to do to him. He tried to focus on other matters to regain some semblance of equilibrium while he walked around the palace but to his disappointment, if not surprise, the walk did absolutely nothing to ease his frustration.

Despite the fact that he decided to stay away from Thranduil until he was able to formulate a plan for the sake of his own sanity, he seemed to bump into him frequently for the rest of the day, and every time he felt his frustration mount as he felt himself harden at just the memories of the Elvenking on this knees, his cock in his mouth, and a string of saliva reaching from the cock to his lips when he pulled off, which might have been one of the most erotic things he had ever experienced in his entire life.

By the evening, Bard had begun to wonder how inappropriate it would be for him to ask a servant to lead him to Thranduil’s private chambers, blushing as he imagined himself explain why he required an audience with the Elvenking in his chambers at such a late hour. However, he could not quite bring himself to do it, instead spending the night replaying every moment with Thranduil as he touched himself, his mind supplying him with a wide range of images of what Thranduil might do to him if he could only get him alone again.

*** 

By the next day, however, it seemed that he would be granted his wish, as he received a note from Thranduil inviting him to take his afternoon meal with him in his private dining chamber, the rest of the day passing painfully slowly as Bard’s body thrummed with increasingly fervent excitement. Whatever he had planned to say to Thranduil had fled his mind the moment he walked in the room and the servant behind him vanished, reaching instead for the first thing that came to his mind when he saw Thranduil lounging in a chair by a small dining table, a glass of wine in his hand.

“What on earth was that?”

“What do you mean?” Thranduil replied innocently, the tone undercut by his knowing smile.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

“Oh, Bard,” Thranduil replied as Bard felt his heart race faster, “do we really need to begin your education at such a basic level?”

“What? No, I mean… why did you stop?”

“You did not ask me to continue,” Thranduil shrugged.

“I am pretty certain that I did,” Bard could not help but raise his voice in irritation.

“You are new to this,” Thranduil explained. “I wanted you to be certain.”

“Bullshit. You knew exactly what I wanted and how much I wanted it.”

“Perhaps I wanted you to want it _more_ ,” Thranduil replied with a smirk as he put his glass down, stood from behind the table and walked over to where Bard was still standing at the entrance.

“So… you were torturing me?” Bard felt indignant. Frustrated, aroused and indignant.

“You can be so dramatic,” Thranduil sighed, before a sly smile graced his face and he quickly added, “but yes.”

“You said you desired me. Have you changed your mind?”

“On the contrary,” Thranduil purred. “I am more interested in you than ever before. But I find that desire only grows when it is denied and I am curious what you look like when you cannot take it anymore.”

“You do not think I am there now?” Bard laughed in disbelief; his laugh cut off when he saw Thranduil’s gaze examine him more intensely.

Taking a deep breath, Bard took a step forward and slowly pressed his lips against Thranduil’s, his eyes fluttering shut as Thranduil’s breath hitched a little, before brushing the tip of his tongue against his closed lips. It seemed that Thranduil was less patient than his words suggested as he parted his lips immediately to allow his tongue access as his breathing became a fraction more laboured, but to Bard’s frustration, he made no move to touch him or close the distance between their bodies and Bard felt too nervous to do it himself. Still, he could not help but slide his tongue against Thranduil’s with a moan as his whole body vibrated with arousal. He was surprised but not shocked to find himself already hard from just so little contact.

Before he could process what was happening, Thranduil had pulled his lips just out of his reach as he watched Bard with undisguised lust, but to Bard’s frustration, took no further action.

“Please, Thranduil. I would do anything for you to continue.”

That seemed to pique Thranduil’s interest as his eyes narrowed a fraction and he whispered dangerously, “Anything?”

“Anything,” Bard replied with a shiver as Thranduil continued to look at him for several long moments, as if considering this information.

“Come to my chambers after dinner. I will send a servant to fetch you.”

Bard almost thanked Thranduil before he caught himself, nodding instead. “But not now?”

“No, Bard,” Thranduil chuckled deeply. “You will have to wait.”

Bard found himself alone again as Thranduil vanished from the room faster than his eyes could follow as he sat down and tried to get his breathing under control and he shivered as he considered just how many hours still lay between him and the Elvenking’s bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter, which I have almost finished writing, will be much smuttier and new tags will have to be added.
> 
> Please, please, please let me know if you're enjoying it so far and what you liked or didn't like. This is only my third fanfic so I'm still a bit nervous about everything.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few hours were as excruciating as any Bard could remember as his arousal mounted in delirious expectation. His mind could not help but flit through every possibility that he could think of for what Thranduil would ask of him, each filthier than the last. He tried to think about the worst case scenario and he was startled to find that he could not imagine anything that he might object to. It was not until hours later, when he was jittery with excitement, that an attendant arrived and invited Bard to follow him for an audience with the King. If it fazed the servant that the meeting would be held in Thranduil’s bedchamber at night, she did not show it and Bard could not help but wonder whether that kind of thing happened often. He did not have much time to reflect on this thought as he was led inside the spacious room, every corner dripping with luxury, the attendant disappearing as soon as her task was complete.

“Ah, Bard. I will be with you in a moment.”

Bard was left standing in the doorway while he waited for the Elvenking to emerge from the adjoining room, feeling slightly awkward when he did not know what to do with himself except stand and wait for his host. When Thranduil emerged, he was holding two goblets, one of which he passed to Bard with a small smile.

Perhaps sensing Bard’s general uncertainty, he added, “It is not poisoned.”

Of course, this only made Bard more sceptical but not wishing to be ungracious, and with the knowledge that if Thranduil wanted to poison him, he had many much more subtle opportunities to do so, he took a sip anyway, his tongue lighting up at the taste of the rich wine of a calibre he had never tried before. 

“Thank you,” he replied genuinely. “It is very good.”

“It is also very strong so avoid drinking too much. You will need your faculties tonight.”

Bard could only stare at him with wide eyes as he tried to process what he meant. He knew that he probably looked like a simple commoner who had no experience with expensive wines or the interior of the private chambers of ancient kings but he was thrumming with anticipation and still unsettled by the uncertainty of what to expect so he could not put up a façade even if he wanted to. Besides, he had the distinct impression that Thranduil was perceptive enough to see through any façade anyone attempted to place in front of him.

He distantly noticed that Thranduil had changed his clothing, the elaborate ensemble from earlier gone and replaced with a long, flowing gown, somewhere between a wedding gown and a nightgown, the colour of mithril, with a high collar and small buttons that started at the neck and finished at the floor. It hugged Thranduil tightly around the torso, emphasising his elegantly-muscled chest and slim waist, and Bard realised that he could not tell if Thranduil wore anything underneath. His platinum hair, unadorned by crown or circlet, settled freely around his shoulders, as his pale skin glimmered in the candlelight. Bard knew he was staring but he could not quite snap himself out of it until Thranduil spoke first.

“You like what you see,” he said smugly. It was not a question.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life,” he replied honestly, his voice slightly breathless. 

“Mmm,” Thranduil agreed approvingly. 

“Most conceited, too,” Bard could not help but add, which seemed to amuse Thranduil further.

“Come this way.” 

Thranduil turned and led him through into one of the inner chambers, seemingly knowing Bard would follow without looking back to check. The doorway led to what appeared to be the main bedchamber, most of the room occupied by a massive four-poster bed with an elaborate headboard carved into antlers and blood-red sheets. Bard stood at the entrance, waiting for further instructions, expecting Thranduil to take the lead. His heartbeat was beating so fast he felt slightly dizzy and he was vaguely aware that he was already completely hard. Thranduil turned and walked towards Bard until they were only a couple of inches apart, their bodies almost touching, as Thranduil looked at him intensely. Bard could feel the heat radiating from his body as he bit back a gasp.

“Undress,” he ordered softly. 

“Pardon?” 

“Undress, Bard.”

Bard felt momentarily flustered. He was fine with Thranduil removing his clothes but he suddenly felt self-conscious at the idea of undressing while he watched, even as he felt his cock twitch unexpectedly at the thought. But he had never been a coward and he was not about to back down from a challenge now. Taking a deep breath as he forced himself to maintain eye contact, he put his goblet down on a nearby table and quickly loosened the ties on his tunic and lifted it above his head as he watched Thranduil’s gaze dance between his eyes and his torso. He pulled off his boots with ease before coming up to face Thranduil again and, with a blush, unlaced his breeches and slid them down, standing before the Elvenking’s assessing glare, completely nude.

His whole body was so highly strung that he could not help but gasp slightly when Thranduil moved quickly towards him and in one quick movement, pulled the ribbon from his hair, letting the chestnut waves fall around his face, before taking a step back to examine him all over, his expression taking on a slightly hungry quality.

“Do _you_ like what you see?” Bard finally worked up the courage to ask, wishing to break the silence.

“Oh, very much so,” Thranduil practically purred, sending a thrill down Bard’s spine, as the Elvenking returned his gaze to his face. 

“So what—”

“I wish to tie you to my bed,” he whispered, his eyes glittering. “If you are amenable.”

It would be fair to say that Bard did not expect this and he was momentarily dumbfounded as he considered the proposition, even as he distantly understood that he would agree to practically anything if the alternative was leaving and returning to his chamber alone. He tried to think through the implications but his mind felt hazy and he lacked any reference point from which to draw conclusions. He wondered whether this was an elf thing or whether this was a Thranduil thing and found he did not care either way.

“And then…?” He could not help but ask, the possibilities making him dizzy.

“Once you are tied to my bed, I will use your body as I please,” Thranduil replied simply, as Bard’s knees threatened to buckle beneath him. “But you would be free to withdraw your consent at any time and if you do, I will stop. You have my word.”

Bard had to quickly evaluate what his word was worth in this moment. Did he trust Thranduil to stop, if he asked him to? Yes, he did. But did he trust him absolutely? No, and the thrill he felt from that minute sliver of doubt, that tiny chance of danger and the possibility, no matter how remote, of being truly at the mercy of the Elvenking had him harder than he had ever been before. He thought he knew Thranduil well enough to know that he would not take him if he were unwilling but what if he simply got carried away? He felt a whole body shiver course through him at the thought.

“Yes,” he heard himself whisper before he even made the decision as Thranduil’s breath hitched and a predatory smile briefly graced his fair face.

Thranduil leaned in and, to Bard’s further surprise, placed a chaste kiss on his brow, remaining with his lips pressed to his skin for a long moment as he breathed deeply, the contrast between the gesture and what he intended to do with Bard unbalancing him further. Finally, he stepped away and met his gaze once more.

“On the bed,” he commanded, his voice firmer. 

Bard’s breathing had grown audible as he immediately followed Thranduil’s instructions, climbing up on the huge bed and looking up at the high ceiling as he tried to calm himself. Suddenly, Thranduil was poised above him, a thin, silky grey rope in his hands, but taking no further action until Bard met his eyes and almost groaned at the lust he saw in them. 

“Do it,” Bard said, his want evident in his voice even to his own ears. Whatever Thranduil had planned, he did not think he would last long as he felt dangerously close to the precipice already. Then again, he did not know if that even mattered with what Thranduil had planned. If nothing else, though, at least this would mean an end to the frustration he had felt over the last week, which was a huge relief to Bard, who thought that his health would begin to deteriorate if he were forced to endure it any longer.

“Give me your wrists.” 

Bard complied without hesitation and before he knew it, he found his wrists tied above his head to the bedframe, securely enough as to allow only a small range of movement but without putting a strain on his joints or cutting into his skin. The sudden realisation that Thranduil clearly had a lot of experience with such knots almost made him moan before he could stop himself. So lost was he in those thoughts that he barely noticed Thranduil tie his ankles to the bottom of the bedframe, which similarly restricted his movements without any pain. He marvelled at the way he managed to tie the binds so efficiently and when he saw the Elvenking look inspect his work with obvious desire, he fervently wished that he would start already as fresh lust seeped through his veins.

He looked up to see Thranduil, standing at the foot of the bed, looking him over with a degree of hunger that slightly frightened Bard, even as it made him even harder. He wanted to speak but he could not speak. All he could do is stare at Thranduil as he walked around the bed to the other side of Bard, his eyes never leaving his body, as Bard was once again reminded of a hunter stalking its prey and he felt heat rise in his cheeks under the weight of his glare, before he settled gracefully on the bed to Bard’s right.

“Tell me, Bard,” Thranduil whispered, his voice lower than Bard had ever heard it before, “have you given any thought to what I will do to you, now that I have you here like this?”

Bard could not help the sharp inhale as he felt his breath catch in his throat. 

“Yes,” he breathed.

“And do you know what I am going to do to you?” Thranduil continued with a tilt of his head, as he leaned over Bard without touching him.

“No,” Bard admitted.

“You are bound with Elvish rope. You will not break it, no matter how desperately you struggle. If you scream for help, there is no one in the palace who would lift a finger to stop me. No one would even enter to check why there is someone screaming in my chambers. It is not an uncommon occurrence.”

Thranduil smiled with a dark glint in his eyes and Bard felt himself begin to hyperventilate as he tried to focus all his energy on breathing. Of course this was a familiar sound to Thranduil’s servants. He naturally could not help wondering about the nature of those screams and he felt his thoughts diverge down two paths as his mind alternated between interpreting the adrenaline coursing through his body as excitement and interpreting it as a sign of danger. Bard felt a currently sidelined part of his mind – the part that processed information rationally, not emotionally – try to remind him that he trusted Thranduil enough to agree to this but the thought was too distant to override the immediate, visceral reactions the restraints evoked, which the Elvenking’s words magnified. Thranduil leaned over further, his body still poised at Bard’s right side while he placed his weight on his right hand on the mattress on the other side of Bard, until they were almost touching, his face inches from Bard’s as his eyes flitted over his face.

“Are you frightened?” Thranduil whispered. Bard swallowed. 

“Yes,” he replied honestly as he stared back into his dilated eyes.

“But you do not want me to stop?” Thranduil stated more than asked, as he tilted his head once more.

Bard considered the question with as much attention as he was able to muster. Did he want him to stop? Did he want to be released, re-dressed and returned to his chamber alone while still aroused to within an inch of his life, merely because the Elvenking unsettled him? Bard knew there could only be one answer. 

“I want you to touch me,” Bard breathed, as he was struck by a fresh wave of lust at Thranduil’s answering growl.

For a long moment, Thranduil’s gaze flicked between his eyes before he shifted his weight to rest on his left elbow and with a devious smile, lifted the elegant fingers of his right hand, which twitched almost imperceptibly in a way that gave Bard the fleeting impression that Thranduil was about to strike him but disappeared so quickly that he thought he had just imagined it. Instead he began to skim down Bard’s body so gently that he could feel the heat more than the touch. Thranduil started with his left earlobe then slid his fingers over his neck, only making tangible contact – featherlight as it was – over the most sensitive spot where it met the shoulder, and continued over a collarbone before winding around to trace its twin. Bard’s eyes followed the movement closely, his eyes flitting nervously between Thranduil’s hand and his face, as the almost-imperceptible pressure of his fingers took his arousal to new heights but denied him any relief.

Thranduil’s intense stare never faltered as he paused to lift his fingers to his own lips and sucked the index finger so obscenely that Bard inhaled sharply at the sight, before slowly lowering his fingers to Bard’s chest once again and ever-so-gently flicking his left nipple with the wet pad of the finger to his left nipple, pulling a deep groan from Bard’s throat as he reflexively pulled on his restraints. He repeated the gesture on his right nipple with a smirk and Bard felt himself struggle against the restraints once more, as the tension in his body became almost unbearable. By the time Thranduil’s long fingers began to trace his stomach muscles, Bard’s chest was heaving and his breathing had become ragged as he tried desperately to lean into the touch but to his frustration, the Elvenking was always too quick to adjust the distance between his fingers and Bard’s body in response, electrifying every single one of his nerve endings. 

Once Thranduil’s fingers had finished mapping his stomach, descending lower and lower, as Bard prayed he would finally touch him where he needed it the most, the soft pads of his fingers grazing his lower stomach in a way that had Bard painfully hard and practically keening, he changed course. Skimming around Bard’s left hip, he began a slow descent down his leg, curving around to his sensitive inner thigh but notably and pointedly avoiding his swollen cock completely as uncontrollable arousal vibrated through Bard’s body and clutched him in an almost painful embrace. Bard heard someone moaning as though wounded and belatedly realised it was coming from him.

“Given enough time, I could teach you to come from just this alone,” Thranduil whispered in a tone Bard considered somewhere between a promise and a threat, making him shiver.

Suddenly, Thranduil was gone, standing by the bed as he looked down at Bard through hooded eyes. 

“Please,” Bard begged. The almost-touch was torture but if Thranduil had just left entirely, he thought he might actually die. 

Bard was not at all prepared for the Elvenking to begin to undo the buttons of his gown, a decidedly smug look on his face, starting at the very top and working down so slowly that Bard knew he was doing it on purpose just to prolong his torture. He had once seen him change into a full set of armour in less than a minute. He knew how nimble he could be when he wanted to be and it appeared, to Bard’s frustration, that right now Thranduil wanted to take his time.

He could not help but stare, enraptured, as every button revealed more of the Elvenking’s tantalising flesh, from his broad shoulders and lightly-muscled chest, down to his slim waist and his toned stomach, at a glacial speed. As his long, elegant fingers continued to uncover his perfect, alabaster skin, Bard felt his stomach clench in anticipation as he realised Thranduil was completely nude under the gown. He barely stifled a moan as Thranduil, looking into Bard’s eyes with a hungry intensity, slowly opened up more buttons to reveal his long, thick cock – completely erect and lightly flushed – as it strained against his stomach. 

Bard’s mouth salivated involuntarily at the sight as he was struck by a fervent desire to taste him and he could not help imagining how it would feel inside him as Thranduil took him from behind, or perhaps with Bard on his back so he could watch his beautiful face as he drew his pleasure from Bard’s body. His cock was around the same length as Bard’s but thicker so he thought it might hurt initially but as he imagined Thranduil fucking him into the mattress with abandon as the invariably composed Elvenking finally lost control and fell apart, and pure arousal flooded over him in waves, he found himself moaning at the thought. He only realised he was still staring at Thranduil’s cock, as if hypnotised, when he snapped his eyes up to his face and saw that same self-satisfied smile on his face, as if he had read Bard’s mind. Bard held his burning stare for a long moment before tore his eyes away and looked back down. 

While Bard was lost in his fantasies, Thranduil had finished undoing the buttons, finally revealing his strong thighs and delicately-muscled calves, the robe around his shoulders gone. As Thranduil stood before him completely nude – self-assured, almost unnaturally beautiful and clearly extremely aroused – Bard felt sanity flee his frazzled mind as he pulled on his restraints unconsciously in an attempt to reach the sublime creature before him. He did not know how much of this he could take.

“Please,” Bard pleaded, his voice hoarse. 

“What do you want?” Thranduil replied with a teasing smile, not taking a single step closer.

“Touch me,” was all he could formulate into words.

Bard watched as Thranduil walked to his bedside table, pulled out a small vial then returned to the bed, sitting up on his knees at the foot of the bed just out of Bard’s reach. Thranduil uncapped the vial, filling the room with a smell of lavender, and poured some of the liquid on his hand. Bard watched, mesmerised, as he lowered his hand and started to slowly stroke himself with the oiled hand, making his cock glisten as he went.

“Is this how you wish to be touched?” Thranduil purred.

Bard could not respond even if he wanted to. He was too enraptured by the sight before him as Thranduil continued to stroke his cock in slow, measured movements, as the light flush on his cheekbones became more pronounced and his breathing grew heavier, his lust-blown eyes only leaving Bard’s to intermittently leer over Bard’s body, focusing distinctly on his cock before meeting his gaze once more.

Thranduil was initially exploratory, touching himself almost leisurely, until after a while he tightened his grip, his face contorting lightly in pleasure, before he suddenly groaned deeply as he twisted around the head on an upstroke. By this point, Bard was painfully hard and so unspeakably aroused that he thought he might pass out if he continued to watch Thranduil’s performance but he was powerless to do anything but moan as he felt his cock twitch against his stomach.

“Do you want to know what I am thinking about?” Thranduil asked in a gritty voice, his breathing ragged, as he continued to pump himself in earnest.

Bard did not. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that whatever elegant words marched out of his sinful mouth next would only exacerbate his agony.

“Yes,” he replied anyway, in spite of himself, his voice breathless and strained.

“Oh, Bard,” Thranduil replied lecherously, his voice thick with arousal. “I have an extensive gallery of mental images of everything that I wish to do to you. But right now, I find myself fixated on one specific scenario. Shall I describe it to you?”

Bard could only nod vigorously as he felt himself flush all over as sweat broke out all over his skin, his eyes torn between Thranduil’s hungry eyes and his slick hand that was now working his cock with faster strokes.

“I have not been able to stop thinking about that day in the library. Even I was surprised by just how much it turned me on when you ordered me to kneel. There are not many people brave enough to command a King to his knees and there are not many people who can still surprise me. I have replayed that memory so many times, remembering the feel of your cock sliding against my tongue, your taste on my lips. I was so aroused I would have done anything you commanded but I wanted to make you wait, though I expended considerable will power to stop myself. Know this, Bard, I was so desperate for release afterwards that I headed straight for my chambers and my hand was on my cock the second I closed the doors behind me.”

Just as Thranduil opened his mouth to continue, he was interrupted by a deep, pained groan that turned into a whine, as Bard writhed against his restraints in a futile attempt to find some relief from the unbearable tension that was beginning to suffocate him. Bard was surprised by how feral he sounded, while Thranduil seemed as eloquent as ever, despite his increasingly laboured breath, but all Bard knew is that he needed to be touched – by his own hand, Thranduil or someone else entirely, Bard did not care at this point – and every filthy word that came out of Thranduil’s tempting mouth only heightened his need. It did not help that his treacherous body refused to look away from the obscene display in front of him as Thranduil shamelessly raced towards completion before his very eyes, his pale skin lightly flushed as he began to arch his spine as he seemed to approach orgasm.

“Thranduil…” Bard pleaded brokenly, unsure of what he was asking for at this point.

Ignoring Bard’s plea, he continued, “I have spent many hours imagining what would have happened if I continued. I wished badly to take you so deeply in my mouth that I choked around your cock. Perhaps you would have ordered me to keep my hands clasped behind my back so you could use my mouth as you wished without any hindrance. I would—”

“Please, Thranduil…” Bard felt close to tears as he pulled on his restraints with such force that he felt the ropes dig painfully into his flesh.

“—have so enjoyed the feel of your hands gripping me by my hair as you fucked my mouth until my eyes watered, your rhythm increasingly brutal as you chased your release until you held my head in a painful grip and I could feel you finish deep in my mouth as I swallowed around you.”

Looking straight at Bard through hooded eyes, Thranduil gripped himself even harder as he approached climax before he suddenly came with a deep, guttural groan over several rough strokes, his spine arching off the bed, his release glistening on his chest and stomach. Once his breathing had evened out a little, he reached for a nearby cloth and wiped his torso as he stared at Bard with a satisfied smile.

*** 

Bard felt tears begin to pool in his eyes. That was by far the most painfully arousing thing he had ever experienced in his life and he suspected that he would be replaying every moment of it for the rest of his life but to watch Thranduil like that while he was bound and no closer to the release that his body now needed with an alarming urgency was torture, and he supposed that was the point of it. 

“Do you want me to stop?” asked Thranduil with a smirk as he eyed the way Bard writhed on the bed, drawing a hysterical laugh from Bard.

“I want you to _start_ ,” he whined, no longer caring how broken he sounded. “Thranduil, please. I beg you. Touch me. Take me. Do something to me, anything, before I pass out.”

“I am not sure that you are sufficiently desperate yet,” Thranduil replied teasingly, drawing a frustrated growl from Bard.

“Please. Have mercy.”

“If you want something you must first earn it. I wish to explore your lovely body some more. If you can remain still – completely still – I will give you what you desire.”

“Are you serious? I am already restrained!” Bard asked, his irritation clear in his voice.

“Yes and that has not stopped you from pulling on the binds and arching off the bed. Do not misunderstand me – I take _great_ pleasure from watching you writhe on my bed – I am merely curious about the limits of your self-control. If physical restraints are not sufficient, perhaps mental restraints will prove more effective.”

Bard considered this for a moment. He was so painfully aroused that every word or look or touch from Thranduil felt like agony. He felt oversensitised all over as his body vibrated with desperate need. He was not sure he would survive whatever new torment Thranduil had devised. But what other option did he have? He could ask to be untied, then leave and seek relief alone but that would rob him of whatever pleasure Thranduil had planned for him if he passed his test and if the Elvenking could bring him to the precipice of climax without even really touching his body, he shuddered to imagine what he might be giving up by leaving. Willing his tears away, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I accept your terms,” he said quietly.

“Try to relax,” Thranduil whispered as he climbed higher on the bed so he was perched above Bard’s body and as soon as Bard opened his eyes to meet his, Thranduil carefully straddled him so his weight rested on Bard’s stomach while his legs bracketed his outer thighs, looking at Bard intently as if checking for discomfort. “You will enjoy this.”

As soon as their bodies touched, Bard felt a jolt of electricity rip through him as the way Thranduil was positioned meant that his backside was right above Bard’s rock-hard cock, barely touching but close enough that if he were just to buck up… he tried to close his eyes to try to breathe through the urge but he could not help noticing that Thranduil’s cock was already half-hard and this only made it more difficult to resist moving.

“Are you comfortable?” asked Thranduil in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer and because Bard could not do anything but nod, he continued. “Good. I will now ask you to keep still. Do not move an inch of your body unless I tell you to. You may speak if you wish. If at any point you wish for me to stop, tell me and I will release you immediately. Do you understand my instructions?”

“Yes,” whispered Bard as he steeled himself for whatever lay ahead and tried to concentrate on his breathing, but kept his eyes fixed on Thranduil, whose pupils seemed even more dilated than before, as the warmth radiating from Thranduil’s body where they touched only made it harder to concentrate.

A dangerous smile flashed up on Thranduil’s face and disappeared just as quickly, as he licked his lips and slowly lowered them to Bard’s, pressing a gentle, slightly wet kiss to his lips that went straight to Bard’s cock. He did not think he could last much longer if even such a chaste gesture sent arousal flooding through his veins. Thranduil remained there for a long moment before parting his lips and licking a teasing strip across Bard’s lower lip, as Bard mewled desperately. It took so much self-restraint for Bard not to open his mouth and pull Thranduil’s hot tongue into his mouth that he felt slightly dizzy. He prayed that Thranduil would finish soon but of course he just repeated the movement on Bard’s upper lip, as he felt his heart beat even faster.

He watched as Thranduil pulled back just an inch until their eyes met and smiled in a serpentine way that made Bard worry about what he had planned. He need not have wondered for long as Thranduil raised his hand and gently turned Bard’s head to his left, opening up his neckline, and leaned back, seemingly just to savour the moment or prolong Bard’s agony. 

When Thranduil finally leaned in to place a small, wet kiss just below Bard’s ear, Bard felt suddenly grateful for the restraints because he did not think that his will power was sufficient to have stopped him from pouncing on Thranduil as he was reminded of just how sensitive his neck was and just how much this was going to hurt. As if sensing that, Thranduil lowered his lips to the top of his neck and placed a wet, open mouth kiss on the skin that had Bard moaning, even as he did everything he could not to move, which Thranduil immediately escalated by licking a pattern into his skin beneath his lips as Bard started to pant even before he gently grazed it with his teeth, before soothing it with his tongue. 

With a dark, self-satisfied chuckle that Bard felt vibrating through his chest, Thranduil lowered his lips and continued to kiss, lick, bite, suck and kiss down his neck as increasingly loud moans fell from Bard’s lips, even as he did everything he could to keep still. He felt Thranduil hum against his neck before he shifted his hips back just a fraction so Bard’s already-weeping cock now gently touched Thranduil’s flesh. A sob broke from Bard’s throat as he channelled all of his remaining energy into not bucking up into the delicious body above him.

Thranduil’s lips trailed lower, licking and nibbling down his chest, pausing to suck on a nipple in a way that made Bard almost lose control, before licking down to his stomach, descending lower and lower until he was alternating between kissing and licking his lower navel as Bard moaned loudly but still did not move, Thranduil propped himself up and gave Bard an absolutely devious smile and slowly lowered his lips until they were almost touching his strained erection and when he was sure Bard was looking, licked around the head, the sensation so exquisite that Bard mewled like an animal in heat. Perhaps it was inevitable that when Thranduil wrapped his lips around the head, there was no force on earth that could have stopped Bard from thrusting into his hot, wet, heavenly mouth with a deep, satisfied groan.

Bard regretted this immediately as he watched Thranduil stand up and head to the bottom of the bed and began to untie the binds on his ankles.

“Wait! I am sorry. Please do not stop,” Bard cried, sounding like an absolute wreck and felt utterly dejected until he saw that Thranduil was not removing the binds but merely loosening them to allow for a greater range of motion. 

“I am not cruel. I will give you what you need,” Thranduil said in a mischievous tone, his pupils so dilated they looked like glittering sapphires. 

Some part of Bard’s mind knew that look meant trouble but he currently did not care one way or the other what motivated his actions. In his current state, he cared about little else than seeking release, as uncharacteristic as this was for him, and so he felt relief wash over his body. He was still too dazed from everything to think clearly but he was filled with warmth when he watched Thranduil sit at his feet on the bed and massage his ankles, initially chastely, though he could not help but notice that Thranduil was completely hard already, the realisation making his arousal escalate even further.

Leaning forwards on his elbows, Thranduil began to kiss the inside of Bard’s calves in a decidedly less chaste manner as he kept his eyes trained on Bard’s despite the inherent awkwardness of the angle. Bard was not sure whether he was checking for reluctance or merely to see the effect he had on Bard because he clearly got off on making him lose his mind with desire. As he ascended higher, he paid particular attention to his inner thighs, sucking on the tender flesh with such a relish that, distantly, Bard wondered whether he held back when his lips were on his neck because he did not know if Bard would mind him marking him in such a visible place. The thought briefly filled him with a rush of affection for the beautiful elf currently placing small, but by no means delicate, bites on the flesh of his thighs before the feeling was immediately drowned out by the escalating need that he had to feel his hot mouth somewhere else.

As if reading his mind, Thranduil raised himself slightly and looked up at Bard with unusual intensity, as if seeking his permission to continue. Bard was so overwhelmed by the sensations that lucid thought felt out of his reach and he was not sure what was being asked of him but found that it did not matter.

“Please,” he whispered desperately, despite not knowing what he was even asking for. 

It seemed that this was the answer Thranduil was looking for because his eyes widened briefly and he inhaled deeply in evident delight before he crouched down and lifted Bard’s legs without any hesitation, pushed a pillow beneath him and placed his legs over his shoulders. The move was so different to what Bard had anticipated that it unsettled him, even as the image of Thranduil looking up at him with undisguised lust and self-assuredness was strangely comforting in a familiar sort of way.

“What are you—”

But Bard never got to finish his question because it was answered for him when he felt Thranduil’s hot, wet tongue circling his entrance before probing inside, as Bard groaned as he felt his inner muscles being breached so minutely yet with both force and intent, making him dizzy. This was so foreign to him that he felt initially unbalanced by the inherent strangeness of the act and the sensations it evoked in him but he was wound so tightly that he was sure anything would have felt good if Thranduil were doing it to him.

As the initial shock wore off, he concentrated more on the feeling itself, as Thranduil’s dextrous tongue was spearing inside him, as he felt his walls contract around the scorching hot, pulsing muscle, he could not deny that it was uniquely exquisite in an obscene, filthy, decadent kind of way. He vaguely thought that he would feel too embarrassed doing this with someone else but as Thranduil continued to fuck him with his tongue, humming softly in a way that sent shivers through Bard’s body, as if he could not get enough of it, any self-consciousness that he might have felt melted away and he allowed himself to simply drown in the sensations, moaning in increasing desperation as he felt Thranduil’s talented tongue stretch him open so lewdly that he wondered whether he could come from just this alone. 

Just as he was burrowing deeper as Bard felt himself try to buck against his tongue, he distantly heard the vial being uncorked as a smell of lavender drifted through the room, and underneath his tongue, he felt Thranduil add one of his long, elegant fingers, pushing inside deftly, without any pain or discomfort. It was not long before Thranduil added a second finger as he removed his tongue, drawing a long, frustrated whine from Bard that was so pathetic and needy that he immediately felt himself blush. Of course it is at this point that Thranduil lifted his head to meet Bard’s gaze, his nose and lips wet with saliva, his lips slightly flushed, his pupils more dilated than Bard had ever seen them, even if he maintained sufficient composure to smirk at Bard in his arrogant manner that he seemed to carry through to every situation. He was not sure he had ever seen anything as painfully erotic before in his life.

Just as Bard opened his mouth to speak, his mouthful of air was instead released as a pained, desperate moan when Thranduil curled his finger and pressed against something that made Bard temporarily black out as his body started to buck against his fingers in earnest before he knew what he was doing. Pulling back slightly, as if to allow him to get used to the sensation, Thranduil repeated the gesture while watching Bard’s face intensely, before Bard shut his eyes tightly, arched of the bed and moaned like a feral animal. He felt so close to orgasm that all it would have needed was another touch like that but of course this is when Thranduil knew to pull back, simply stretching his fingers languidly, deliberately missing that sweet spot.

As Bard started to regain control of his breathing, he was assaulted from both sides as he felt Thranduil graze that same spot inside him with an almost painful gentleness while he simultaneously licked a stripe up Bard’s cock from the base to the top, his lips and tongue briefly lapping at the head. At this point, Bard was a broken wreck and he did not care how pathetic he looked as long as the mischievous Elvenking who looked up at Bard through his long, dark lashes in a way that had Bard’s toes curling would just make him come already. 

“Thranduil, please…” he begged brokenly as he tried to control his panting, fresh tears welling up in his eyes.

Thranduil smiled a dangerous smile and repeated the gesture with his fingers as he licked down his cock in a messy, wet pattern, his dark eyes fixed on Bard’s, before pulling away just an inch while stilling the hand inside Bard.

“You moved,” he whispered coldly, the undercurrent of threat lifting to the surface.

“What?” Bard did not understand.

“You moved,” Thranduil repeated, his voice even despite the evident arousal on his face. “I told you not to.”

Bard did everything he could to stop himself from weeping but he could not stop the tears that threatened to fall down his face as every inch of him felt tired, drained of all energy, and more aroused than he had ever been before in his life. 

“Please, I will do anything. Just let me come.” He should have probably been wary of the calculating look that settled on Thranduil’s face but he was too far gone to care. Whatever it was, he would do it and he would do it gladly.

Thranduil continued to stare at him before he lowered his lips to his cock once more, took him all the way down before pulling off with him an audible pop, before chasing it up with another curl of his fingers that left Bard hanging at the edge. He only needed a push and he felt closer to it than ever before when he felt Thranduil place small, wet kisses up his shaft, only pausing to speak, one word at a time, before resuming his task as Bard moaned deeply. 

“Renounce Dale’s share of the treasure.”

“Wh-what?” Bard stuttered, as a small part of him began to wonder whether he had reached such an extreme stage of arousal that he began to hallucinate, as Thranduil began to gently curl his fingers again, close enough to just barely brush over that sweet spot, as Bard’s body was wracked by intermittent shock waves but not enough pressure to send him over the edge.

“Agree to my tearing up the treaty and I will make you come with my mouth and with my fingers right now. Give me your consent to do this.”

Bard stared at him, shocked, confused and still so desperately aroused, for what felt like an eternity. He closed his eyes tightly when he felt Thranduil take him in his mouth for half a second before immediately pulling off with a smirk, coming to teasingly lick around the base of his shaft. 

“I consent.” 

The words left his mouth before he could even begin to consider the implications, let alone settle on a decision. A wave of regret began to creep through him as he felt a chill settle in his bones until a warm tidal wave of effervescent pleasure washed over him, smothering all other concerns, as Thranduil growled in satisfaction and began working his long fingers in earnest at the same time as he took Bard so deeply in his mouth that he felt his cock hit the back of his throat, arching his spine off the bed when he felt Thranduil moan deliciously around his cock. 

Everything happened at the same time as Thranduil hollowed his cheeks and, never breaking eye contact, began to suck him in an intense, powerful rhythm in complement to the electric shocks his fingers were sending through his body as Bard pulled harder on the restraints and began to reckless fuck his mouth in counterpoint to his rhythm, drawing a series of lavish moans from Bard, each louder than the last. The intense pleasure that he felt all over was so completely overwhelming that Bard heard himself scream as he crashed over the edge, coming deep down Thranduil’s throat in a series of powerful spurts that seemed to last forever as his throat muscles milked every last drop from him with an intensity that was almost painful. He came so hard that his vision turned white for a brief moment before he finally managed to inhale a lungful of air, his muscles melting into the bed as his eyes closed shut of their own volition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the penultimate chapter. As always, please let me know what you liked and didn't like! I live for your kudos and comments.


	5. Chapter 5

It took almost no time at all for Bard’s post-coital haze to wash away as guilt and terror gripped his heart. He could not believe that he traded his people’s future away so easily, especially for something so intangible and so selfish. The avalanche of shame that now threatened to overwhelm him struck him like a physical wound as his mind raced to find a solution. He barely noticed Thranduil cutting the restraints and he only became aware of his presence when he leaned over Bard and spoke so close to him that Bard almost jumped.

“I can hear you worrying,” Thranduil said with a note of victory in his voice.

“Thranduil, I did not... how can I...” he did not even know where to begin and felt completely adrift.

“Relax.”

“But the agreement—“ Bard met his gaze reluctantly.

“Was signed by me hours ago and will be in Erebor by dawn,” Thranduil replied with a mischievous smile. “I had Galion draw up a duplicate for you, if you wish to check for yourself.”

“So this was just... a game to you?” Bard was torn between anger, relief and disbelief.

“Yes,” he replied smugly. “You said you were desperate. I wanted to see just how desperate you were. It seems the answer is _very_.”

Bard just stared at him for a very long moment, too shocked to reply until some of the shock subsided. 

“You bastard.”

Thranduil laughed a rich, satisfied laugh as he began to stroke Bard’s left side with his nimble fingers and Bard was surprised to find the tell-tale signs of arousal begin to gather again in his stomach, even as he fought to hold on to his anger.

“Besides, I had to be certain that your presence in my bed was not out of some misguided sense of obligation, especially after how grateful you looked when I first showed you the treaty.”

“The undignified begging was not sufficient to convince you of my desire?” Bard wanted to pummel him with his fists until his nose bled and could not even bring himself to feel bad about it. 

“The begging was a nice touch,” Thranduil’s voice dropped lower as his eyes took on a more predatory quality and his strokes became firmer, making Bard shiver. “But you might have just been _exceptionally_ grateful.”

“Oh, it is not gratitude that I feel right now,” Bard said, even as he felt his focus drift when Thranduil lowered his lips to his neck and began to lick down in a series of wet, sharp kisses.

“No?” Thranduil asked innocently against his skin before his lips continued their ministrations.

“You expected me to be grateful for your deception?” He cursed himself for the evident arousal in his voice.

“Mmm... you can punish me if you wish.” Thranduil’s lips had descended lower and began to nip at his collarbone, his tongue and his husky voice against his skin making Bard feel warm all over.

“Would leaving you here alone right now count as punishment?” Bard could not help the moan that escaped his lips when Thranduil’s dexterous tongue reached his navel, even as he tried everything he could to rein in his reactions.

“Yes,” Thranduil breathed against his lower stomach, “but we both know you will not.”

He suddenly dropped his lips lower and bit the inside of his thigh, as he ran his fingertips along the hard length of Bard’s cock, which was already straining against his stomach, in a teasing pattern, making Bard groan involuntarily, his hands gripping Thranduil’s shoulders. Just as suddenly, he raised himself until he was eye level with Bard, a smug smile gracing his features as his eyes shimmered with desire. Bard felt urgent lust mingle with his anger as he pulled Thranduil in for an intense, bruising kiss that the Elvenking returned with no hesitation, pressing his body firmly against Bard’s, the feeling of the hard erection against his stomach making Bard needy once more.

Finally, he pulled away and looked down at Bard once more, his weight resting on an elbow while he continued to languidly stroke his stomach.

“What do you desire?” Thranduil asked, his eyes flitting between his eyes and his mouth.

“To fuck you.” The words left his mouth before he could settle on an answer and Bard delighted in the sharp inhale of breath his response drew from Thranduil.

“If you think that is a _punishment_ —“

“No”, he replied quickly, honestly. At Thranduil’s assessing look, he added, “I want to.”

Thranduil suddenly stood up, making Bard briefly panic that he said the wrong thing, until he bent to the floor and swiftly returned to the bed with the vial of oil from before that had evidently fallen off the bed earlier and sat up on the bed, examining Bard once more.

“You have never done this before.” This was a statement, not a question, but Bard shook his head anyway. “I can prepare myself if you wish?”

Bard could not help the full body shiver that tore through him at the thought. He replied breathlessly, “I want to do it.”

With no warning, Thranduil reached down and flipped them so that he laid on his back, with Bard on top, as he handed him the oil with a smirk that had Bard longing to wipe it off his smug, pretty face. He briefly thought that only Thranduil could look so completely in control in what on anyone else would look like a submissive position as he leaned down for a deep, wet kiss and could not help but grind against him, before pulling away and tracing his fingers over his perfect body. He wished he could spend longer just touching every inch of him, committing it all to memory, but he was thrumming with desire to take him and he lacked the Elvenking’s patience.

He uncorked the vial and coated his fingers generously with the oil as he examined Thranduil’s face, his breath hitching at the unrestrained desire he found there as Thranduil’s pupils had almost completely dilated, while his cheeks were lightly flushed and he was breathing more heavily already. Taking a deep steadying breath as he tried to restrain his own lust, he brought his hand lower, brushing over Thranduil’s thick, rock-hard cock on his way down, as Thranduil stretched out beneath him in such a way that made Bard wonder if he had ever felt inhibited in his life, before pressing his oiled fingers against his entrance and circling it gently, his eyes locked onto Thranduil’s.

“Start with one finger, then add a second. Once you have stretched me sufficiently you can add a third, if you wish.”

Bard stifled a moan as he followed his instructions and slipped in a finger. The tight heat clamping down around his finger, and the inherent novelty of it all, made him dizzy with anticipation but he was too afraid of hurting Thranduil to hurry, stroking him tentatively until he heard Thranduil growl in frustration.

“More,” Thranduil said in a strained voice.

Complying, Bard carefully added a second finger but Thranduil’s tight grip made him hesitant.

“I am not made of glass,” he said through gritted teeth. “You will not break me.”

Nodding, Bard started to move his fingers more, scissoring him open as he carefully explored him the way Thranduil did it to him earlier, as he felt a sense of awe that only added to his arousal. As he felt Thranduil relax around him, he experimentally stretched his fingers until he brushed against a spot that had Thranduil groaning as he arched against Bard, his walls fluttering around his fingers. It was one of the most arousing things Bard has ever experienced and he immediately repeated the action, paralysed with lust, as he drew quiet moans from the captivating creature beneath him, as he began to writhe on his fingers in a way that made Bard feel desperately close to the edge just from watching him.

“I am ready,” Thranduil panted, “Take me now.”

The beatific sight beneath him coupled with Thranduil’s obvious and undisguised desire made him delirious with lust but in this moment he was too mesmerised to act on it, as if it might shatter the moment, and he once more felt stifled by his nerves as he struggled to speak while continuing to stroke deep inside Thranduil in a way that had him keening.

“Bard...” he ground out through gritted teeth.

“I do not want to hurt you.”

Thranduil barked out a pained laugh, his eyes glowing with an indescribably intensity when they met Bard’s. “If you do not fuck me immediately, _I_ will hurt _you_.”

Bard briefly closed his eyes as he felt arousal flood through his body and lined himself up, his weight resting on his elbow as Thranduil wrapped his long legs around him confidently. His eyes locked onto Thranduil’s, he pushed the blunt head of his cock just past his opening, shivering as he felt his muscles contract around him. He could not stop himself from pushing deeper inside, despite the almost painful grip around him, overwhelmed as he was by exquisite pleasure more intense than perhaps he had ever felt before. He pressed his hips forwards as he felt Thranduil’s muscles stretch to accommodate him as his legs gripped tightly around his waist.

“Does it hurt?” He had to ask.

“Yes,” replied Thranduil. As Bard stilled in response, he quickly added, with an almost-tender smile, “But not unpleasantly so.”

Bard had little time to evaluate his answer as his hips thrust forward of their own accord, even as he tried to focus on anything other than the indescribable pleasure of being inside Thranduil. Even the idea of it made him giddy with lust so he tried his best not to think about it. Meeting his eyes, he checked his face for discomfort or reticence but finding none, he began to thrust gently, experimentally, into the tight heat that was enveloping his cock as Thranduil sighed contently and wound his legs around his waist even tighter, his hands holding Bard firmly by his hips.

He loved seeing Thranduil like this – unguarded and almost vulnerable – but as much as he enjoyed the warm contentment that the Elvenking radiated, he longed to make him moan in need like before in a way that made Bard feel greedy. Pressing both hands into the mattress on either side of his face, he bent his body at a sharper angle, a thrill running down his spine at how deliciously flexible he was, and started to thrust in earnest, going deeper on every stroke. 

Thranduil’s breathing sped up and with a gasp, he dug his nails into Bard’s back, the pleasant hint of pain driving his hips forwards faster. Lowering his mouth to Thranduil, who immediately turned his head to give him better access, as if he knew what he intended, Bard placed rough bites on his neck without once slowing down his thrusts, drawing a luxurious moan from Thranduil, the sound going straight to Bard’s cock.

“I want to hear you,” Bard breathed into his skin as he began to soothe the bites with his teeth.

“Oh, Bard. You only get what you earn,” he replied and although he could not see his face, Bard _heard_ the smirk in his deep, velvet voice and once again was filled with an overwhelming desire to wipe it from his face.

Raising himself up, he pulled back just far enough to see Thranduil’s smug, beautiful face, which only cemented his decision. Bard stilled his hips and pulled out entirely, his breath hitching at the loss, leaning back on his heels as Thranduil raised a single eyebrow in question.

“Turn around,” Bard whispered and almost groaned at how quickly Thranduil moved to obey, with a grace Bard could only envy, as he turned to face away from him and settled on all fours. When he watched him look over his shoulder, his ethereal hair slightly mussed, cheeks flushed and lips plump from being kissed, as he arched his back in clear invitation, Bard could not help but groan before closing his eyes to collect himself for a moment as the breathtaking sight before him had nearly finished him.

Sinking his nails into the flawless skin on his slim hips, Bard had to bite down hard on his lip to stop himself from careening dangerously close to climax as he slowly slid his painfully-hard cock inside Thranduil, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt before pulling out almost completely and slamming back inside him. He repeated this a few times before he settled into a rhythm of deep, hard thrusts that had Thranduil moaning softly. It was not enough for Bard and he began to angle his hips experimentally until one thrust had Thranduil groaning deeply as he arched his spine sharply and dug his fingers tightly into the bedsheets. Feeling supremely pleased with himself, Bard repeated the thrust with more force, ripping an even louder groan from Thranduil’s throat as he met his thrust, and again, and again, until Thranduil was moaning loudly enough to be heard by his attendants. 

Feeling drunk with power, Bard ground out between heavy pants, “I still need to punish you.”

“Punish me later,” Thranduil muttered through clenched teeth, continuing to meet his thrusts, his breathing becoming increasingly ragged.

When he felt Thranduil approaching climax, he drew on all of his strength and residual anger and stilled his hips completely as he tried to breathe through the overwhelming urge to move inside that enticing heat and chase his release, a task made even more difficult by the deep growl of frustration that he felt as much as heard emanating from Thranduil’s chest. Bard felt him draw deep breaths before he turned to look over his shoulder, his beautiful face contorted with anger, frustration and arousal. 

“Bard,” he whispered so menacingly that Bard almost caved under its weight. “What do you think you are doing?”

“You made me beg. I want to hear you beg. It is only—” he was interrupted by the moan that, to his surprise, fell from his own throat as Thranduil clenched enticingly around him, his face entirely too self-assured for Bard’s liking. 

“King of Dale,” his eyes flashed darkly. “I am older than this forest. I am older than the _moon_. I have reserves of patience you could not even imagine. Do not test me.”

“Oh, I am ‘King of Dale’ again. You must be _very_ angry,” Bard replied with a genuine smile and before Thranduil could reply, started thrusting into him again with so much force that the bed moved beneath them, making sure to angle his hips just right, as a rich, guttural groan fell from Thranduil’s lips, cutting off whatever retort he had planned. It took no time at all for him to bring Thranduil to the edge once more, as his moans grew louder.

Bard knew he was playing with fire but he was not sure if he was ever going to get this chance again and although it was testing his sanity not to race towards climax while each one of his senses was overstimulated by Thranduil, he had never felt as powerful as he did in that moment, not even when he killed a dragon, and he wanted to hang on to the feeling for as long as his increasingly failing self-control would allow. Just as he felt Thranduil begin to flutter around him, he stilled his hips once more, biting down on his cheek hard enough to draw blood, and held Thranduil’s hips as firmly as he could to stop him from grinding back onto him. 

The effect was both immediate and slightly terrifying. Bard heard Thranduil’s sharp inhale of breath before an almost-feral groan ripped from his throat and he looked back at Bard with wide eyes that for a brief moment made Bard seriously consider whether he was in physical danger. He knew Thranduil was much stronger than he was and although he considered himself fairly adept in a fight, he could never move as quickly as an elf. If he wished, Thranduil could snap his neck and dump his body in the forest with no repercussions, and Bard was surprised to find that this thought seemed to only arouse him further. He was certainly learning a lot about himself that night. Rather than heed the part of his mind that was currently warning him to be careful, Bard decided to poke the hornet nest some more.

“You could just touch yourself if you cannot take it anymore,” he whispered, enjoying immensely the way Thranduil’s eyes narrowed in contempt. 

Bard knew that there were dozens of different things Thranduil could do to extricate himself from this situation and take control of the situation, and he thought that the sheer fact that he was remaining still and waiting for Bard meant that he must have enjoyed being under his control, as illusory as it was, at least to some degree. He thought back to what he said earlier and realised that it was likely that few people in his life have dared to try something like this with the Elvenking and that he probably enjoyed someone else being in control for a change. At least, he desperately hoped that this was the case, for his own sake. He dreaded what would happen if he misread the situation. 

“There will be consequences,” he finally replied. Bard expected as much.

Leaning over until his body was draped over Thranduil’s, he pressed his lips against his ear, tracing the shell with his tongue before he gently bit down on the pointed tip, making Thranduil growl. Without removing his lips from his ear, he used one of his hands to stroke down Thranduil’s spine, his nails grazing the alabaster skin, as Thranduil arched into his touch, making Bard feel heady. When Thranduil dropped his head, his breathing just as heavy but slightly more even, Bard indulged an impulse and threaded his hand through his silken platinum locks at the back of his head and pulled sharply, with more force than he intended, and he heard a tortured gasp in response, the sound so exquisitely beautiful it made Bard pause in something akin to awe. It was only when Thranduil growled in frustration that Bard began to thrust again, which seemed to bring him to the edge even faster than before. After only a handful of deep, brutal thrusts, he felt Thranduil begin to clench deliciously around him, his groans becoming less controlled.

Without slowing his hips, Bard leaned down and pulled Thranduil’s head back by his hair, drawing a filthy moan from his lips, and whispered in his ear, “Beg me to continue.”

Thranduil shook his golden head messily as he continued to arch into his thrusts, a sheen of sweat covering his perfect skin, even as Bard’s grip in his hair tightened. 

“Beg or I will stop,” he continued. 

If he were honest with himself, he was not sure whether he had the will power to follow through with the threat as it was taking enormous self-control for him not to come already as it was but he fervently hoped that Thranduil had reached his limit. He was both irritated and impressed to discover that this was not the case.

“Make me,” he barked back.

Bard slowed his hips to a slower but equally hard rhythm as he considered a change of tactic as Thranduil looked back at him, a clear warning on his face. Clutching blindly at whatever he thought had the slightest chance of working, and settling intuitively on an idea, he continued to thrust inside Thranduil’s delicious body as he met the Elvenking’s lust-blown eyes in a fierce gaze.

“If you are so sure of your self-control,” Bard began, only to be interrupted by Thranduil scoffing, looking absolutely wrecked despite the sneer on his face at Bard’s words, “then I will continue. But do not come until I tell you to.”

A number of different emotions flitted across Thranduil’s face in rapid succession as he processed his words even as Bard continued to thrust into his pliant body: shock, arousal, contempt, anger, arousal, intrigue and arousal. Bard had hoped that the inherent challenge would be too much for Thranduil to resist and he knew he had him when Thranduil finally lowered his head in resignation and grunted his assent. 

Having the Elvenking under his control was electrifying and Bard had to draw on every last shred of will power that he had left to make this last as long as he could, though by this point the urge to finish deep inside Thranduil was becoming unbearable. Taking a deep breath, he released his hair and sunk his nails painfully into Thranduil’s hips before established a punishing rhythm of brutal, fast thrusts, making sure to hit that sweet spot on every stroke. He felt Thranduil cling onto the edge of climax as his walls fluttered almost-painfully around Bard. The thrill that came with knowing that the only thing stopping him from coming right now was his self-restraint made him so heady he did not think he had ever been this aroused before, not even when he was at Thranduil’s mercy earlier. He was suddenly very grateful that he already came once that night or there was no chance that he would have been able to sustain this as long as he did. 

He continued to pound into him mercilessly as Thranduil’s groans took on a desperate quality, and he sounded increasingly broken. Bard knew he should have probably felt more ashamed by the bolt of pure lust that this realisation sent through his body but at that moment, he did not care. Thranduil was now clenching furiously around Bard as he grabbed the head of the bedframe with both hands and held onto it with a white-knuckle grip. Bard knew he was past the point of no return himself but he would be damned if he finished before Thranduil after everything he just put him through.

Without once slowing down his hips, Bard leaned forward and bit him hard where his shoulder met his neck, wringing a long, broken sob from Thranduil who threw his head back, sweat drenching most of his body and making his ordinarily perfect hair a golden, frazzled mess around his shoulders. 

“You have no idea how much I want to come deep inside you.” Bard paused to enjoy the moan falling from Thranduil’s lips before continuing, “But I will keep fucking you for as long as it takes you to surrender, even if it kills me.”

Thranduil turned around, his hair dancing wildly around his shoulders, and stared at Bard for several long moments with a terrifying intensity that had Bard unconsciously slowing down his hips, his pupils dilated so much they looked unnatural, before he finally turned away from him and bowed his head in defeat.

“I yield,” he croaked, his voice painfully hoarse. “Finish me.”

Bard felt overcome with relief and licked a messy line up Thranduil’s spine, drawing another moan from his lips as his spine arched sharply. On an impulse, Bard reached forward and threaded his fingers through the ends of Thranduil’s platinum hair, before bringing his hands, still clutching the silken locks, back down to grip his hips, digging his nails hard enough to leave marks. With a deep growl, he sped up his rhythm and began to fuck him with harsh, almost violent, thrusts angled to hit the mark on every plunge as each movement pulled Thranduil’s hair and made him moan like an animal in heat – his loud, tortured groans reverberating obscenely around the spacious room – as his muscles contracted wildly around Bard’s cock. The knowledge that Thranduil was a hair’s breadth from orgasm had him slamming into him with all of his strength until he could no longer hold back.

“Come for me,” he breathed.

The effect was breathtaking. A sob left Thranduil’s throat and, using the bedframe as leverage, he began to push back with as much force as Bard was exerting on every thrust, his walls clenching painfully around Bard’s cock. It only took a few thrusts before he heard Thranduil cry out as though wounded as he came hard with a deep, feral groan and erupted over the bed in a series of long, powerful spurts as his spine arched at an almost unnatural angle and his head fell back. Bard could do nothing to stop himself from following him into climax, the exquisite pleasure making him delirious, and with increasingly-erratic, brutal thrusts, he emptied himself deep inside Thranduil with an obscene moan that seemed to go on forever, as his still-fluttering walls milked him dry. 

***

They remained that way, both holding on to whatever they could, or each other, until their breathing began to even out and Bard finally pulled out as gently as he could, though not so gently that he did not draw a soft gasp from Thranduil’s lips as he did so. They both collapsed on their backs on the bed, neither moving towards or away from the other. At this point, Bard fully expected to be asked to leave, perhaps by the summoning of a servant who would lead him to his chambers, so he was surprised when it seemed like Thranduil was content for him to remain in his bed.

Too tired to think of the consequences or implications, Bard impulsively reached out to place his hand on Thranduil’s chest as he turned to lie on his front. He felt a pleasant warmth suffuse through his body when Thranduil immediately took Bard’s hand in his, resting it firmly against his stomach. 

“Are you really older than the moon?” He finally asked, drawing a sharp, genuine laugh from the Elvenking.

“No. But it seemed the quickest way of bringing my point across.”

Neither of them said anything for a long time, so long that Bard would have thought that Thranduil had fallen asleep if he could not see him in his peripheral vision. Eventually, one of them spoke.

“I have never done that before.”

“Yes, you said,” Thranduil replied simply.

“No, I do not mean what we did. I mean… _how_ that was. It was… different.”

“You enjoyed it.” This was a statement more than a question and Bard thought he would have heard the self-satisfied smile in his voice even if he could not see his face.

“More than anything in as long as I could remember,” Bard replied honestly, his tone sounding too close to a confession for his liking. “But it was so intense and I was worried that I hurt you or angered you. You frightened me, at times.”

“Fear is good,” Thranduil replied, his smirk back in place. “Fear keeps you honest.”

“Fear did not keep you honest,” Bard laughed in response.

“I was not afraid,” he replied in a whisper that made Bard shiver. “Infuriated, but not afraid.”

After a long moment had passed, Bard felt himself drawing closer to sleep but there was one thing he wanted to know and he was not sure he would ever get another chance to ask.

“There was a point when I was bound when I thought you were about to strike me. Were you—”

“Yes,” Thranduil admitted. “But I thought better of it.”

Bard stopped to consider his answer before speaking, “Why?”

“It was your first time. I did not wish to overwhelm you.”

“No, I mean… did you want to hurt me?”

“No,” Thranduil clutched his hand tighter against his stomach. “I wanted to frighten you.”

“Does anything frighten you?” Bard asked curiously as he squeezed his hand in return.

“Yes,” Thranduil replied, to Bard’s surprise.

“Will you tell me what?”

“No,” Thranduil replied quickly, before adding, “But you are welcome to try to find out.”

Bard thought that was the most he was going to get from the Elvenking that night and as he felt the tendrils of sleep begin to claim him, he did not stop himself from moving closer towards the lovely body beside him, too sleepy to be surprised by the way Thranduil had allowed the embrace and pulled him closer, as his eyes fluttered shut. 

Bard woke up to find himself alone, the Elvenking long gone from his own chambers, his words still ringing in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I think that's probably where I will leave it. I was considering writing more chapters because Bard's stay at Mirkwood isn't over but this seemed like a good place to end it, unless there's particular demand for more?
> 
> As always, please, please, please let me know what you thought, and what you liked and didn't like about it. You guys have been so supportive and I am so grateful for all of you.


	6. Chapter 6

Bard was woken by the first light of the morning which steamed gloriously through the large windows, flooding the room with a golden hue. Stretching his limbs in a sleepy haze, the realisation of where he was came to him gradually until, with a slight shock, he remembered whose bed he was currently occupying as his mind was bombarded by a kaleidoscope of images of the night before. He searched around for Thranduil but found only his scent — like summer rain on a wildflower valley — which permeated the room. Bard began to look around for a note before he kicked himself for expecting something so ridiculously domestic from the great Elvenking, who likely expected him to vacate his bed at the earliest opportunity without any fanfare. He supposed he should have been relieved to find himself alone as he had not planned to impose upon Thranduil by falling asleep here and was not sure how to act around him the morning after but as his mind supplied him with one filthy idea after another, the evocative scent that enveloped him making his blood pump faster, he realised he was painfully hard and unsure of what to do about it in someone else’s bed. 

Bard supposed he could have dressed and returned to his own chambers but climbing out of the warm cocoon of the bed felt a lot to ask of a man this early in the morning and he was not quite ready to face the household staff who would undoubtedly know where he spent the night and how. Thranduil might be accustomed to having servants to the point that he was able to ignore them but Bard still found it difficult to feel comfortable around them and as he remembered with a blush just how loud both of them were last night, he dreaded leaving the warm shelter of the room even more. 

He tried to ignore his growing arousal but this seemed to only heighten his need and throwing propriety to the wind, his mind still foggy with sleep, he shook off the heavy duvet just far enough to wrap his hand around himself and with a sigh, began to stroke himself indulgently — almost lazily — as he closed his eyes and replayed everything they did the night before. His hand sped up when he remembered how it felt to be bound to the bed at Thranduil’s mercy, as his nimble hands and ravenous lips explored his body until he was dizzy with lust, and the exquisite pleasure of him bringing him to climax with his mouth. He remembered the indescribable feeling of sinking into him for the first time, his mental catalogue of Thranduil’s every moan making him impossibly hard as he stroked himself faster at the memory of how breathtaking he looked when he came and how tightly his fluttering muscles gripped his cock. 

So consumed was Bard by thoughts of Thranduil, his mind placing him in increasingly compromising positions as he chased his release with mounting urgency, that he did not notice the presence of another in the room until he heard a sharp inhale, his eyes flying open to find the object of his fantasies standing by the door, watching him intently, like a demon summoned here by Bard’s debauchery. A cold dread swept through him as he panicked and, letting go of himself, covered himself in the duvet, immediately feeling foolish for both being caught in the act — in Thranduil’s own bed, no less — and hiding under the covers like a blushing maiden. His anxiety only grew when for a long moment Thranduil said nothing, his expression unreadable, as Bard’s accurate embarrassment robbed him of the power of speech before Thranduil broke the silence.

“You fall asleep in my bed — completely nude, I might add — spend the night writhing against me through some evidently _very_ pleasant dreams, then the moment I am out of the room, you do this and I return to find you shamelessly pleasuring yourself in my bed.”

Bard could not read his expression but his tone made it clear that he was infuriated, and he was mortified to discover that rather than dampen his ardour, Thranduil’s low, velvet voice only made him harder, even as his mind scrambled to formulate an appropriate response.

“I’m sorry, I will leave—“

“Continue,” he commanded softly.

Bard’s breath hitched as he met Thranduil’s striking blue eyes, shivering at the intensity of his gaze, and he felt his arousal spike at the demand as his body reacted immediately to Thranduil’s proximity, who took a few steps forward to stand at the foot of the bed, his hand resting on the carved bed frame, but walked no further. Bard felt his breathing grow shallow and erratic as he tried to steady his nerves and, blushing, pushed down the plush duvet and wrapped his hand around his swollen cock as Thranduil’s eyes tracked the movement and he began to stroke himself tentatively, his eyes closing shut.

“Look at me,” Thranduil whispered softly. 

When Bard forced himself to meet his eyes, feeling heat rising in his cheeks, he gasped softly to find them heavily dilated as Thranduil’s breathing grew imperceptibly heavier. He desperately wanted Thranduil to come closer but he could not bring himself to ask him to touch him, even as he imagined Thranduil pressing him into the mattress with a bruising kiss, his long, elegant fingers wrapping around his cock as his sinful lips sucked down his neck, the image making him grip himself tighter as he touched himself with faster strokes. 

“What are you thinking about?” Thranduil asked in a low, thick voice.

As emboldened as Bard felt by Thranduil’s unmistakeable interest, which was plainly more prurient than mere curiosity, the experience of touching himself for the first time in front of another was enough to make him somewhat self-conscious and he could not bring himself to verbalise the lewd thoughts and licentious images that whirled through his mind as he chased his release.

“You,” Bard breathed, hoping this was sufficient to bring across the singular nature of his desires, Thranduil’s sharp exhale of breath in response almost pushing him over the edge. 

“Are you remembering how you felt in my mouth as I sucked you dry?” Thranduil practically purred, the sound of his voice, an octave lower than usual, and the image he evoked making Bard moan involuntarily. “How you felt inside me while you fucked me?”

He did not know if Thranduil chose his words deliberately to arouse him but he suspected he did because he could not imagine a better set of words to drive him wild with desire. Bard was so desperate for relief he knew he would not last long and as he raced towards completion with little finesse, he felt a bolt of lust shoot through him when he saw Thranduil gripping the bed frame in a white knuckle grip, the image pushing him over the edge as he came hard on his stomach with a deep groan, his eyes closing shut of their own volition, as he heard Thranduil gasp softly.

When he was finally able to open his eyes again, his breath still ragged, a thrill ran down his spine at seeing the tension in Thranduil’s body, who despite controlling his reactions with a strength of will that Bard could only envy, was nevertheless betrayed by his lust-blown eyes and the light flush that settled on his cheekbones as he appeared to be actively resisting the urge to pounce at Bard.

“You came back?” Bard asked softly and immediately felt foolish for it, as though he expected Thranduil to justify being in his own chambers.

“To leave a note,” Thranduil replied in a strained voice, his intense gaze still fixed on Bard. “A decision that I already regret immensely as I expect I will spend a large part of the council meeting this morning thinking of everything I could be doing to you instead of talking about wheat tariffs.”

“I suppose it would be unhelpful to your kingdom’s economy, then, if I told you just how much I want you to take me right now instead of attending your meeting,” Bard teased, Thranduil’s obvious desire making him bold.

Bard delighted when he heard his breath hitch and saw his hand tighten on the bed frame as his body tensed further. As his eyes traced Thranduil’s body, lingering on the alabaster skin that his simple yet elegant black robe revealed, he felt the warm pull of desire once more when he noticed the unmistakable outline of an erection beneath the silk, the sheer fabric tenting around it so decadently that it made Bard long to pull Thranduil into bed with him and slip his hands under the robe. He was sure Thranduil would opt to miss the meeting — at least, Bard thought that had he been in the same state of arousal, he would not have been able to resist remaining long enough to quench his needs — so he was surprised when he heard Thranduil speak.

“I will make you pay for this,” Thranduil replied through gritted teeth before he turned sharply and began to briskly stride out of the door. “Stay here until my return. I am not through with you.”

“Stay here?” he frowned.

“Stay here and do not touch yourself,” Thranduil smirked at Bard before turning back to head out of the door. “I will know if you do.”

As soon as he left the room, Bard realised that he was hard again, Thranduil’s obvious arousal and frustration, as well as his command, heightening his arousal and he cursed Thranduil for denying him relief. He supposed he could have touched himself anyway but he had a feeling Thranduil was telling the truth when he said he would be able to tell — though Bard had no idea how — and he did not want to risk his ire if it meant he would leave him wanting like before. Especially, he thought, if the alternative was Thranduil’s long, elegant fingers snaking around his body, his pretty lips wrapping around his length as his hot, skilled mouth working his cock with a raw hunger as he looked up at him through his lashes... Bard realised he would need a distraction if he was going to make it through the day.

Standing up before he could change his mind and give in to the temptation, he walked over to the bathing room and began to slowly wash off the mess from the night before and that morning in cold water, too embarrassed to summon a servant to bring him hot water.

******

The day passed impossibly slowly, so slowly that Bard began to distantly wonder whether Thranduil was somehow slowing down time with whatever elf magic he was sure he possessed, just to torture him further. Once he finished washing himself, pausing to examine every bottle of bathing oil in the chamber, his heart beating faster when he found one that smelled so much like Thranduil that it flooded his mind with fresh images of Thranduil’s body against his, he went to dress. 

Opening one of the armoires, he trawled through Thranduil’s clothing until he settled on the least ostentatious ensemble of the lot, an emerald green tunic and black leggings, which fitted him surprisingly well despite their different frames. Bard once again felt foolish when he realised how domestic this felt but Thranduil did command him to remain here and he had obviously not brought any spare clothes when he set off last night so short of remaining naked, he had no choice but to borrow his clothing.

Bard spent a while nosing around the room before settling on a book from one of the shelves, his thoughts increasingly coalescing around Thranduil’s return as his arousal oscillated from distant interest and frustration to an almost painful need throughout the day. Just as he began to imagine Thranduil entering the room and pulling Bard for a fierce kiss as he tore his clothes off, someone knocked on the door, making Bard jump before he could calm himself and bid the visitor to enter. A servant opened the door, her face revealing nothing, before she set a platter of food down on the table, bowed, and left. 

He began to tuck into the food, realising he was starving only when he inhaled the delicious aromas streaming from the dishes, before he uncovered a note from beneath a jug in Thranduil’s distinctive scrawl, informing him that he would not be back until dusk and reminding Bard to remember his instructions. Bard sighed with frustration and resumed eating until he found himself thinking of Thranduil once more as lust flooded his body.

His mind flitted between memories of the night before and freshly constructed tableaux of everything he had yet to try with Thranduil, his thoughts invariably returning to and lingering on one specific thing. He told Thranduil he wanted him to take him mostly out of impulse and because he wanted to frustrate him the way he frustrated Bard the night before but the more he thought about it, the more he realised just how much he wanted to feel him inside him, the thought of Thranduil pinning his wrists to the bed while he entered him, his beautiful face contracting in pleasure, making him painfully hard as the desire to touch himself became overwhelming. 

Unable to think clearly through the haze of lust, he picked up a random bottle oil from the bathing room and, snaking out of his leggings, returned to lie on the bed. Pouring a generous amount in his hand, he wrapped it around his cock with a hiss and began to stroke himself slowly. Just as his arousal mounted to new heights, he found this was not enough, and reaching for the oil once more he generously coated the fingers of his other hand, brought them behind him and tentatively slid one inside himself, sighing in pleasure when he imagined it was Thranduil’s finger. He impatiently added a second finger, ignoring the burn as he stretched his fingers experimentally until he was struck by a paralysing bolt of pleasure, his body arching off the bed involuntarily as he groaned deeply. As he continued to fuck himself with his fingers, the angle pushing him perilously close to the edge, while he pumped his cock, imagining Thranduil fucking him deeply, he was suddenly gripped by momentary panic. If he defied Thranduil and continued he would almost certainly punish him by denying him what he so desperately needed and if the night before was any indication, he was not sure he would survive Thranduil’s unique brand of torture. Removing his hands with an undignified whine, he took a deep breath and forced himself to put his leggings back on before sitting back on the bed, his eyes closed, and attempting to focus on his breathing even as his cock throbbed painfully against his stomach and every inch of him craved release.

Of course, it was at this moment that Thranduil entered the room, making Bard stifle a groan as his eyes flew open and roamed across his body hungrily before he brought them to his face with a significant degree of effort, his breathing ragged as he saw Thranduil appraise his appearance with a smug smile. Throwing caution to the wind, Bard stood up and strode towards him, determined to put an end to his frustration. Just as he began to approach him, Bard gasped in surprise when he felt strong hands push him roughly against the wall, moaning when Thranduil pinned his wrists against the hard surface on either side of his face, his body just out of reach as he examined Bard with a tilt of his head.

Bard was just about to beg when Thranduil suddenly pressed his body against his, ripping a groan from Bard’s throat when he placed his knee between his thighs and began to rub it slowly against his rock-hard cock as Bard was helpless to do anything but grind against it. Changing his hold, Thranduil seized both of Bard’s wrists in one hand and pinned them roughly above his head before he threaded his other hand through his raven hair and, tugging his head gently to the side, began to kiss Bard’s exposed neck, nipping the tender skin with blunt teeth before sucking the flesh into his mouth, his tongue lapping against it in a way that made Bard wonder if he could come from just his mouth on his neck alone.

His groans took on a desperate quality as he felt himself edge closer to climax, arching his body against Thranduil whenever his sinful mouth lingered over a particularly sensitive part of his neck, before his lips suddenly left his neck. Just as Bard was about to complain, Thranduil brought his face closer until they were just inches apart and, closing his eyes, leaned in to press a soft, wet kiss against his lips, sliding his tongue against Bard’s as soon as his lips parted with a sigh before the kiss quickly took on a frenzied, uncontrolled quality. Bard almost came when Thranduil began to lewdly fuck his mouth with his tongue, growling into the kiss when his earlier fantasies of Thranduil fucking him flooded through his mind.

Just as he was blissfully inching towards climax, Thranduil suddenly pulled away, his hand on his wrists the only contact between them as he locked his eyes on Bard’s with an intense gaze, smirking when he felt him struggle against him in an attempt to rub himself against him.

“Oh, Bard,” he whispered, his voice full of arousal, “what am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want just please, don’t stop,” Bard pleaded as he struggled against his grip.

“But I must stop or we will be late.”

“Late for what?” Bard asked as dread pooled in his stomach.

Thranduil released his wrists and walked across the room, as Bard stood frozen to the spot, feeling lost, removed a gown from an armoire and turned back to face Bard, his eyes shimmering with mischief.

“We are dining with Elrond and the rest of his party from Imladris,” Thranduil said softly as he began to unclasp his robe, his eyes never leaving Bard’s. “It would be beneficial for you to meet him.”

Bard could only stare with wide eyes as Thranduil undressed himself in a decidedly lascivious way, his breath hitching at the sight of his thick cock straining against his stomach, before he watched him dress himself in the new gown just as slowly, as if to drag out the torture for as long as he could, the emerald silk gown clinging to his body obscenely. Bard’s arousal had now mounted to unbearable heights and he could not imagine how he would get through an entire dinner while his body vibrated with need. 

He watched him as if in a daze as Thranduil opened the armoire once more to pull out a deep blue gown and walked over to Bard before beginning to slowly undress him as his fingers lingered temptingly on his skin, his eyes never leaving his, as Bard desperately tried to resist the urge to throw him onto the floor and mount him like an animal. Bard bit his lip painfully in an attempt to control himself when Thranduil’s teasing hands reached the waistband of his leggings and slowly began to unlace them, groaning when he gracefully dropped to his knees and, looking up at Bard, slid the leggings down his legs until his mouth was just inches from his painfully hard cock, forcing Bard to shut his eyes and take a deep breath to stop himself from gripping him by his beautiful hair and fucking his mouth with abandon. 

It was only after his leggings were removed and he felt Thranduil stand up that he dared to open his eyes once more and immediately regretted it when he saw Thranduil watch him with unmistakeable desire, his lust-blown eyes flittering between Bard’s eyes and his lips, before wrapping the gown around him and fastening it with nimble fingers, amusement gracing his features whenever he observed Bard react to even the smallest of touches.

“I surmise from your condition,” Thranduil purred as he licked his lips, “that you did as I asked?”

“Yes,” Bard ground out, his frustration mounting further when Thranduil hummed in satisfaction and, tilting his head, leaned in for a soft, luxurious kiss before pulling away with a degree of reluctance.

“Let us not keep our guests waiting,” Thranduil smiled, leading Bard out of the chambers as Bard steeled himself for a long evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I could not help continuing this story because I slightly love their relationship. I have another chapter that I have almost finished writing that I will add soon but as I didn't plan for the story to run beyond five chapter initially, I now slightly regret using contract law terminology as the theme for the chapter names because I am running out of chapter name ideas.
> 
> Please let me know if you liked it! I do want to continue the story further but I might not bother if it doesn't look like anyone is reading it.


	7. Chapter 7

Throughout dinner, Bard sat distracted as he observed the long day’s journey into an even longer night. The food was good, as far as he actually noticed it, and Lord Elrond was perfectly pleasant company, though Bard struggled to concentrate on what he was saying for long because Thranduil was seated right beside him and would occasionally turn to Bard to give him a brief look that promised to do unspeakable things to him or he would eat his food with an inappropriate degree of relish, such that Bard found himself staring at his mouth in a way that he was sure would be noticed by the others. 

Distantly, Bard felt a sense of annoyance, both at Thranduil and at himself, that instead of taking this opportunity to get Elrond’s advice on a number of topics that pertained to his kingdom and his people which he was sure would have been invaluable, his attention was instead directed towards Thranduil and his very distracting behaviour that conspired with his own arousal to ensure that he could only concentrate on the Elvenking and everything that he wanted to do to him if he could just get him alone.

It seems that this was just the entrée, however, as halfway through the meal Bard felt Thranduil’s hand settle nimbly on his knee as he stifled a surprised yelp. Turning to him, he was not at all surprised to find Thranduil facing forwards as if unaware of the placement of his hand as Bard squirmed in his seat, the heat radiating from Thranduil’s hand electrifying every one of his nerve endings.

“Are you unwell?” asked Elrond, sounding genuinely concerned. “You seem a little flushed.”

Elrond’s question gave Thranduil the excuse to face Bard with a raised eyebrow, his eyes shimmering with amusement behind the mask of concern as they flickered between his eyes and his lips, forcing Bard to take a deep, steadying breath.

“I’m fine, thank you. Just a little tired.”

“The King of Dale was tied up last night with negotiations over the Erebor treasure,” Thranduil explained in a low, silky voice, his fingers gently caressing the inside of Bard’s knee. 

“Is it going well?” 

“Significant concessions have been made,” smiled Thranduil enigmatically as his fingers rubbed small circles into his thigh.

He saw more than heard Elrond exchange a few words with him over the treasure before the subject changed to the relationship between two minor human settlements that Bard did not follow as he felt his hand move in an inch higher, long fingers splayed across his inner thigh, driving his arousal to new heights as he felt himself harden completely, Thranduil’s minute smirk making the air in the room feel thicker until his breathing grew shallow. Bard choked back a moan, covering it under a cough, as he felt Thranduil’s fingers climb higher and higher, the pads pressing gently into his clothed flesh in a way that made him dizzy with need.

“Are you sure you are alright?” Thranduil asked innocently, as others at the table looked over in concern.

“Fine,” ground out Bard, his breath hitching when the sinful fingers climbed even higher. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

He was not sure how much more he could take. He was torn between shaking his hand off and pressing himself against it, desperate for relief but distinctly uncomfortable with the audience. Bard desperately wanted badly to feel those elegant fingers on his cock after a day of endless frustration but he did not trust himself to be quiet or subtle, particularly as he had no idea how far Thranduil would go in public, though he suspected that the Elvenking had rarely allowed propriety to interfere with what he wanted. Determined to do something that would give him an advantage, he picked up a bowl of cherries from the table and set about devouring them slowly, as he licked his lips and twisted his tongue around each one, delighting in the quiet inhale of breath he heard from his side as Thranduil pointedly looked straight ahead.

As he sat there, teasing Thranduil with the cherries, who rewarded him with an almost-imperceptible change in his breathing as his hand tightened minutely around a goblet while the other skirted dangerously close to his erection, Bard was struck by a powerful urge to fall to his knees and take him in his mouth under the table as he imagined what it would be like to wrap his lips around him and run his tongue down his length as he attempted to maintain his composure at the dining table. He had never had any such inclination before meeting Thranduil and even he was surprised at how quickly his feelings of vague attraction had solidified into an intense carnal need for him and everything that entailed. 

Bard was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts as a large hot hand enveloped his rock-hard cock, making his toes curl as he felt himself flush all over, before pulling away just far enough to allow Thranduil long fingers to stroke painfully gently up and down his length, forcing Bard to bite down hard on his lip to stop the groan that threatened to escape his lips. Looking over to glare at Thranduil, he found him looking straight ahead, engaging someone in a conversation about something to do with trade routes, his face a mask of cool detachment, even as a smug smile graced his pretty face. As soon as he saw Elrond turn to speak to someone in his entourage, he took his opening and leaned over to whisper in Thranduil’s ear.

“Stop right now or I will bind your hands the second we’re alone,” he breathed, a fresh ripple of lust making him shiver when he saw Thranduil’s pupils visibly dilate.

Thranduil’s paused his hand without removing it as he seemed to consider Bard’s threat, luring him for a brief moment into a false sense of security, before he wrapped his fingers around the erection tenting his gown, and as Thranduil's long, nimble fingers stimulated him through the silk, Bard realised with a flash of panic that Thranduil would continue until he came in the middle of the dining room, the expression on his face even more self-assured than before, and that in Bard's current state of arousal, as images of Thranduil tied up and at his mercy flooded his mind, it would take him no time at all to bring him to climax. He had to act fast.

“Apologies,” Bard croaked as he stood up suddenly, Thranduil’s hand falling down immediately, “I am more tired than I thought. Please excuse me.”

******

He bolted out of the door to the sound of concerned voices, walking as briskly towards Thranduil’s chambers as his dignity would allow. He knew Thranduil would remain behind to entertain his guests and decided that this would do just fine. Bard would finally find relief, whether Thranduil approved or not. He vaguely realised that he could have gone to his own chambers if he wanted privacy but did not stop to consider the implications of his choice or what it meant that none of the servants he encountered along the way nor the guards at the doors stopped him from entering the private chambers of the Elvenking. He imagined Thranduil had given them specific instructions but he did not want to consider the nature of his instructions or how they would have been received by his staff, who would have no doubt understood why Bard was to be allowed free reign of Thranduil’s private chambers. Shutting the heavy doors behind him, Bard immediately stripped out of the ostentatious gown and reclined on the bed, taking himself in hand with a sigh.

He was close, so very close, when the doors suddenly swung open, making Bard jump, watching as Thranduil strode into the room, his eyes blazing with desire, as he wordlessly climbed on top of Bard and, pressing his body against his, descended for a suffocating, possessive kiss, Bard’s hands flying to wrap around his neck as he returned the kiss, grinding against the firm body in his arms. For several long moments, Bard drowned in the pleasure of the kiss as he shamelessly rutted against Thranduil, his arousal long past the point of pain before he finally pulled away from his hot mouth.

“Undress,” he told Thranduil, his breathing ragged. “I want to see you.”

Reclining on the mattress, he watched as Thranduil gracefully raised himself off the bed, his pupils impossibly dilated, his eyes fixed on Bard, and began to peel off the gown to reveal inch after inch of perfect porcelain skin as Bard stared, mesmerised. Tracing his eyes over his sculpted frame — broad shoulders and a slim waist, a waterfall of white-gold hair dancing around his pretty face every time he turned his body as his elegant fingers unfastened various clasps on the gown, every striking part of his body illuminated and enhanced by the Elvenking’s effortless confidence — Bard felt a deep sense of awe at the beauty before him. He had an uncharacteristic urge to take that beauty and somehow claim it and possess it, even as a sliver of doubt rippled through his stomach at his undeniable inadequacy in comparison. 

Although in his younger days when he was courting his wife he had sometimes been called attractive — pretty, even — he knew he paled in comparison to Thranduil and no title, no matter how grand, could ever elevate him to the Elvenking’s imposing stature, and that was okay. It really was. It just made him wonder what Thranduil was doing cutting short a dinner with his illustrious guests to instead stand before Bard and undress for him, carefully unlacing the emerald green gown that made him look like a living jewel, as he looked at him with a degree of yearning that Bard could not quite understand, even as he reciprocated it with every inch of his body, and suddenly, the room was too still, time moving too slow. Climbing off the bed, he walked towards Thranduil and leaned down to pick up the silk cord from his gown off the floor.

“What are you doing?” Thranduil asked, his voice thick with arousal, as he loosened the final clasp and slid the gown from his shoulders.

“You didn’t stop. At dinner, I mean. I told you what I’d do if you didn’t stop.”

Thranduil inhaled sharply, his eyes shimmering with arousal as they flickered between Bard’s eyes and his lips for a long moment, before he seemed to come to a decision and turned to face away from Bard with his wrists outstretched as Bard’s cock twitched against his stomach at the sight.

“Bind me,” he whispered in a dangerously low voice.

Taking a steadying breath, Bard ran his hands down his arms, enjoying the feel of the sculpted muscles beneath the satin skin, before bringing his wrists together, wrapping the silk cord around them a number of times before securing them with a fisherman’s knot, tight enough to leave marks on his pale skin, his arousal mounting exponentially when he saw Thranduil flexing to test the strength of the binds, his breathing growing heavier. 

“Could you break out of the ties?” Bard asked curiously.

“Yes,” Thranduil nodded, “but I would submit to torture before voluntarily damaging any part of this gown so you can consider me restrained.”

Bard turned to face him, stifling a groan at the flush that now graced his beautiful face, as lust radiated from his whole body and without breaking eye contact, brushed his hand over his collarbone, down his chest and firm stomach, before stroking his rock-hard length with gentle, teasing caresses, relishing Thranduil’s soft moan as he looked at him with an almost frightening intensity, his body visibly tensing.

“You’ve kept me waiting all day. All day I have thought of little else than your hands, your lips on my body. Do you have any idea how frustrating that has been for me?”

“Then let me make it up to you,” Thranduil purred before he dropped his lips to Bard’s neck, nipping at it delicately as he descended lower so slowly that Bard was sure he would not survive if he had to wait another second.

Emboldened by Thranduil’s state of arousal and too far gone to think clearly, Bard weaved his hands through his hair and yanked him back with a gentle pull. As soon as his eyes locked with Thranduil’s, a thrill running down his spine at the lust in his azure eyes, he pushed him down to the floor with more force than he intended, his heart racing faster at the sight of the Elvenking on his knees, his arms bound behind his back, as he looked up at him in unmistakable hunger, his mouth just inches from his cock as his own erection strained beautifully against his stomach. 

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, feeling dangerously close to the edge, before he locked eyes with him again and holding the base of his shaft with one hand, angled it towards Thranduil’s mouth, groaning deeply when he immediately wrapped his lips around the head, as his hot tongue lapped the sensitive underside, as his other hand tightened reflexively in his hair as Thranduil moaned quietly around his cock. Weaving his other hand through his hair, he gripped him by the roots, his hips thrusting unconsciously into the wet heat of his mouth, growling when Thranduil hollowed out his cheeks and began to suck him in a firm rhythm, the intense pleasure of his scorching mouth and the undeniable lust in his eyes almost pushing him over the edge already. Just as he felt himself approach climax, he reluctantly pulled Thranduil’s mouth off him as he attempted to regain control of himself, his efforts undermined when Thranduil began to lick along the side of his shaft.

“Don’t — _ah_ — I want to feel you inside me when I come.”

“Oh, Bard,” Thranduil breathed against his cock, his voice perceptibly deeper than before, “I will make you come as many times as you wish. _Let me_.”

Gripping his hair tighter at his words, he felt Thranduil’s hot lips wrap around his length once more as he began to thrust into his mouth in earnest, his head falling back in pleasure as he worked his cock with immense skill before he took him even deeper, drawing moans from Bard when he felt him take his full length into his throat and swallow around him, Bard’s toes curling when he began to hum in a way that made him slightly delirious. His mouth on his cock felt exquisite and Bard did everything he could to make it last until Thranduil bobbed his head faster and did something unspeakable with his tongue that made Bard lose control and begin to fuck his mouth in fast, reckless thrusts. Clinging on the precipice, Bard looked down and met his eyes, hungry and eager, a rosy flush staining his pale skin, and lost himself in the sensations, his hips speeding up as his hands gripped Thranduil’s hair like a vice, his low moan around his cock pushing him over the edge as he came down his throat with a deep groan, his spine arched, his head falling back of its own volition.

It took several deep breaths before he could control his body again, looking down at Thranduil just in time to watch him swallow, his lips still wrapped around his softening cock, his eyes burning with need. Bard relaxed his grip in his hair, massaging his fingertips over his scalp before gently tugging gently until Thranduil stood up, kissing him deeply as soon as he raised himself to full height, tasting himself on his tongue. Although the taste itself was not particularly pleasant, the visceral reminder of how the Elvenking had brought him to climax with his mouth so enthusiastically made a soft heat pool in his stomach as he plundered his mouth with abandon.

Bard pulled away just far enough to watch his face as he lowered his hand to stroke his cock, Thranduil’s breath hitching when his fingers ran over the rock-hard length stained with pearls of precum, as Thranduil looked at him with a undisguised need, his breathing heavy and increasingly uneven, making Bard yearn to taste him even as he felt a slight ripple of nerves dance across his stomach. 

Walking Thranduil over to his dressing table without saying a word, he pressed him into the chair facing the mirror as he stood behind him, their eyes locked on one another. Bending down behind him, he lowered his lips and pressed a wet kiss just behind his ear before nibbling on his earlobe and licking upwards along the shell of the ear, Thranduil’s soft sighs spurring him on until his lips reached the pointed tip. Wrapping his wet lips around it, his teeth barely made contact before Thranduil let out a loud moan, as Bard felt his own cock begin to harden again. 

Bard continued to graze on the tip before soothing it with his tongue as Thranduil’s moans took on a more broken quality, only stopping to meet his gaze in the mirror, his breathing growing heavier when he saw Thranduil’s flushed cheeks, his parted lips and his unnaturally-dilated pupils fixed on him in silent plea. He lowered his lips once more and kissed down his neck, occasionally sucking at the sensitive skin, as Thranduil began to pant softly, mewling when Bard reached the junction where his neck met his shoulder and removed his lips to meet his eyes once more, the licentious look in his eyes making him completely hard. 

He walked around until he faced Thranduil, positioned himself between his chair and the mirror, and sank slowly to his knees as he watched Thranduil’s lust-blown eyes widen briefly. Bard reached forward and pulled his hips closer to the edge of the seat, watching Thranduil’s face as he spread his legs wider, settling himself between his thighs, his mouth inches from the leaking erection that jutted up against his stomach as Thranduil pulled reflexively on the binds on his wrists, the action making the muscles in his upper arms ripple.

“Oh, Bard...” Thranduil whispered thickly, sounding intoxicated, his body strained with anticipation.

Bard took a deep breath, the scent of Thranduil’s arousal making him heady, and tentatively pressed the tip of his tongue against the leaking head before licking off the salty liquid with kitten licks as Thranduil’s breath came out in short gasps, moaning when Bard swirled his tongue around the head as he catalogued his reactions to his every touch. He paused to lap at the underside of the head, a rush of arousal flooding through his body when Thranduil’s head fell back with a deep groan, as his thighs trembled with the effort of keeping still, his reactions melting away most of Bard’s nerves as he lost himself in Thranduil’s pleasure. 

He continued with the teasing licks until Thranduil met his eyes once more, the overwhelming desire in his eyes making Bard eager, and kept his eyes fixed on his as he softly wrapped his lips around the tip, pulling away when Thranduil’s hips bucked into his mouth unconsciously before he regained control, the strained moan from his lips making Bard’s cock twitch. Holding his hips down with his hands, Bard watched a feverish need blaze in his azure eyes as he began to tentatively bob his head, catching Thranduil clench his hands behind him from the ripple of the muscles in his arms.

“Tell me when you’re close,” Bard pulled off just far enough to say, sinking his mouth back down on his cock when Thranduil nodded, closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, his chest heaving.

Bard continued to suck him leisurely for several long moments, the wet sounds reverberating obscenely around the room, before he lifted his lips off his cock to wrap his hand around the wet shaft as his other constrained Thranduil’s hips, giving it a couple of experimental strokes, twisting his wrist on the up-stroke, watching as the muscles in Thranduil’s neck tensed, his head falling back once more, a mass of silver hair spilling through the air. When Bard’s hand settled on the base and angled the shaft towards his mouth, he watched enraptured as Thranduil’s mouth contracted around a silent moan as Bard sucked gently on the head before taking him deeper, inch by inch. Careless in his enthusiasm, he took him so deeply that his cock hit the back of his throat and he could not help but choke, instinctively pulling back, even as a guttural groan erupted from Thranduil’s throat, his spine arching reflexively as his chest flushed. 

Bard concentrated on his breathing and when he felt the brief panic recede, he sank his mouth further on his cock while making sure not to take him too deeply and began to suck him harder, hollowing out his cheeks slightly, while keeping the rhythm torturously slow as Thranduil moaned breathlessly, the sounds making Bard needy. Letting go of the shaft, his hand snaked round to Thranduil’s bound wrists, his breath catching when he found his fingers clenched in tight fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. As he wrapped his fingers around one of his wrists without stopping to consider the tenderness of the gesture, Thranduil snapped his head forward, his eyes flying open to meet his own, his almost feral look sending a paralysing bolt of arousal down his spine. 

Bard had meant to tease Thranduil, to punish him by bringing him over the edge while denying him relief, but he found himself rapidly losing track of his intentions, overwhelmed by Thranduil’s palpable pleasure. Keeping his eyes fixed on the darkened eyes above him, the moonlight hair mussed around his shoulders as a light sheen of sweat settled on his skin, Bard sucked him faster, mesmerised by the intensity of his reactions as Thranduil began to moan more urgently, his hips bucking minutely into his mouth despite the obvious efforts he was devoting to keeping still, his breathing heavy and erratic, as Bard moaned at the sight, feeling the vibrations ripple from his throat onto Thranduil’s cock, which twitched in his mouth, the tremors in his thighs intensifying. He had often thought of the act as one of submission but as he sucked him, making the Elvenking fall apart with his mouth as he looked at him with needy desperation, he felt an intoxicating sense of power that he was not ready to relinquish.

“Bard, I am...” he rasped breathlessly, growling in frustration when Bard slowed down his rhythm.

Lifting his lips off his cock entirely, he took him in his hand, slowly stroking his length, impossibly hard and glistening with saliva.

“Close?” Bard asked, finding his voice hoarse.

Thranduil nodded briskly. Bard was tempted, so very tempted, to wrap his lips around him once more, the thought of him losing control as he came in his mouth making him painfully hard but he spent the whole day in unbearable frustration and he intended to get his revenge even as Thranduil’s increasing desperation compounded his own arousal with every passing minute. Pressing his lips to his cock once more, Bard tried to catch his breath as his tongue gently lapped at the head as pained sighs fell from Thranduil’s lips before he raised himself on his knees and leaned in to bring their lips together, Thranduil immediately deepening the kiss.

Bard’s arousal had now mounted to unbearable heights and as Thranduil slid his tongue obscenely against his, he could not help but drop his hand to palm himself, his painfully hard cock twitching in his hand, before he reluctantly stilled his hand as he broke their kiss.

“On the bed,” he whispered, his voice heavy with lust.  



	8. Chapter 8

Thranduil stood up gracefully and kept his lust-blown eyes fixed on Bard as he seated himself on the bed as instructed, using his thighs to balance on the bed as his bound wrists constrained his movements.

“Can you lift your arms?” Bard asked as he climbed on the bed, running his hand down Thranduil’s side as he retreated to the centre of the bed to accommodate Bard.

He watched a small smile settle on his lips as he smoothly twisted his arms, bringing his bound wrists above his head, before pressing him against the mattress with a splayed hand on his chest as he straddled his thighs, sighing when their erections met momentarily before he readjusted the angle.

“Can you keep your hands above your head or do I need to bind them to the bed?” Bard asked, secretly hoping it would be the former. For reasons he could not articulate, he found Thranduil’s self-control deeply arousing and he yearned to watch him attempt to restrain himself, even more than he wanted to see him tied to the bed, though it was a close call.

“Of course I can,” Thranduil scoffed, his darkened eyes fixed intently on his.

Bard nodded and began to press a chain of kisses down his body, pausing to lick down Thranduil’s cock as he sighed in pleasure, before reaching for a vial of oil on the side table and settling himself on his knees a foot from Thranduil, who tracked his moments like a hawk. Opening the vial, he coated his hand generously and, spreading his thighs wider, snaked his hand around and slowly pressed his oiled finger inside himself, his eyes fixed on Thranduil who groaned at the sight, his pupils dilating further, his hands clenching into fists but remaining obediently above his head.

“Let me,” he breathed.

Without replying, Bard slid his finger deeper, a shiver running through him as he imagined Thranduil moving inside him, making his movements rougher. Adding a second finger, he hissed at the slight burn but continued to stretch himself until he felt his muscles relax around his fingers. Stretching his fingers experimentally, he probed deeper until he found what he was looking for, groaning deeply as a wave of pleasure tore through him, his spine arching reflexively, his eyes closing shut of their own accord.

“Bard...” Thranduil’s deep, gravelly voice snapped him out of his trance, forcing Bard to open his eyes and look at Thranduil.

Lust vibrated through his veins at the sight before him: Thranduil’s alabaster skin flushed at his neck and chest, his eyes almost black, his long, thick cock flushed and straining painfully against his stomach as he panted softly, his eyes full of undisguised desire.

“You know what I did today?” Bard asked, not waiting for a reply, as he continued to fuck himself on his fingers, intermittent tremors coursing through his body. “I laid on this bed and pressed my fingers inside me like this, imagining it was your cock inside me.”

Thranduil inhaled sharply as his hands clenched more tightly above his head before letting out a long, shaking breath, his ethereal hair sticking to the light sweat on his shoulders in a way that made him look wild, like a thunderous storm breaking over a ragged sea. 

“But you stopped,” he whispered.

“It wasn’t enough,” Bard sighed in pleasure, his breathing shallow and erratic. “I wanted to feel you inside me as you took me. I wanted to see your face as your breached me, knowing, as you fuck me, that you’re the first to introduce me to this pleasure.”

Pulling at the binds around his wrists, his whole body tense, Thranduil growled as his hips unconsciously thrust upwards, his fists clenched in a white-knuckle grip. 

“Let me use my mouth,” he pleaded, his voice like gravel.

A wave of arousal struck Bard as he imagined Thranduil’s dexterous tongue stretching him open but he was so far gone that he did not think he could wait any longer, even for something so enticing. Adding a third finger, he stretched himself with more urgency as the burn subsided, Thranduil watching him as if hypnotised, until finally Bard could not take it anymore. Crawling forwards, he straddled him once more as he uncorked the vial and stroked Thranduil’s rock-hard, leaking cock with his oiled hand, his soft moan sending waves of anticipation through his body. Just as he began to position himself above Thranduil’s cock, Thranduil raised his head in protest despite his evident arousal.

“You’re not ready,” he whispered, even as his hips minutely bucked upwards, every inch of his body radiating need.

“Then you’ll just have to be very patient and give me time to adjust,” Bard replied teasingly.

Thranduil gave Bard an assessing look and inched forward to kiss him softly for a long moment, the affectionate gesture a sharp contrast to the lewdness of the scene, filling Bard with unexpected warmth, before Thranduil dropped his head back to the mattress, his eyes squeezed shut, as if steeling himself for torture, as he gave a brisk nod of his head.

Angling the shaft upwards until the tip brushed against his flesh, relishing Thranduil’s inhale of breath at such a minute touch, Bard took a deep breath and sank down just far enough for the blunt head of his cock to breach him without going any further as he marvelled at the novel sensation. Taking another deep breath, he lowered his hips further and stilled, breathing through the burn, as Thranduil’s eyes flew open with a soft moan, his eyes dilated so much they looked almost black. As he felt the burn recede, Bard sank a little lower, resting his weight on his hands on Thranduil’s heaving chest, who looked up at Bard with a mixture of pained frustration, acute need and something akin to rapture. 

As he slowly impaled himself on his cock inch by inch, pausing to adjust to his size as the increasing pleasure of being filled diminished the small degree of pain that he felt, overwhelming lust coursed through his veins when he felt Thranduil’s thighs tremble from the effort of keeping still as his entire body radiated a feverish need to thrust up into the tight heat above him. Bard was not surprised anymore to find himself fetishising Thranduil’s self-restraint, his hands clenched in painfully tight fists but remaining dutifully above his head, the erotic sight of the small red marks visible on his pale wrists from where the binds moved minutely in his struggle making him moan unconsciously. 

He continued his descent until he was fully seated, the small degree of pain he felt warring with his increasing need for release, stilling to adjust even as the tremors in Thranduil’s body intensified, the smouldering look in his eyes making the air in the room feel thick as Bard felt his cock twitch inside him. While keeping his gazed fixed upon him, he squeezed around his cock experimentally as a deep groan erupted from Thranduil’s throat, his eyes closing shut as he visibly tried to regain control over his breathing, the vividness of his reactions making Bard feel heady.

“What happened to your vast reserves of patience?” Bard could not help but tease.

“If it were not for my patience,” Thranduil replied through gritted teeth, his velvety voice impossibly deep, his eyes still closed, “you would be on your hands and knees as I fucked you so hard you would not be able to sit down for days.”

Bard exhaled sharply at the image as a wave of feverish lust run down his spine, surging almost-painfully through the nerves of his arms before settling low in his stomach, as he found himself yearning to know what that would feel like.

“So why aren’t I?” he breathed, enraptured.

Thranduil said nothing for a moment before answering in a low whisper, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Bard smiled to himself and leaned down to press a soft kiss against Thranduil’s lips, who kissed him back tenderly for a long moment before the kiss quickly turned heated, the feel of Thranduil’s hot tongue in his mouth making Bard needy. Breaking the kiss, he sat up straight and leaning his hands on Thranduil’s chest once again for leverage, lifted himself slightly on his cock before pressing back down as Thranduil’s eyes flew open and met his. He repeated the movement a couple of times, getting used to the new sensations, before he began to slide halfway up his cock before impaling himself on it, moaning lewdly, as Thranduil’s beautiful face contorted in pleasure, his hips bucking upwards minutely even as he restrained them with an iron will.

“I’m ready,” Bard rasped around soft moans.

Needing no further encouragement, Thranduil growled and began to meet Bard’s messy movements, bucking up into him sharply in a way that had Bard moaning loudly as he lost himself in the exquisite pleasure of Thranduil moving inside him as he fucked himself on his cock.

“Kiss me,” Thranduil commanded softly.

As soon as Bard moved to comply, leaning forwards until their lips met, his hands resting on either side of his head, he felt Thranduil deftly change the angle. As he began to fuck him in hard, controlled thrusts, hitting that sweet spot on every stroke, Bard groaned deeply into the kiss as waves upon waves of intense pleasure ripped through him, sending tremors through his whole body, overwhelmed by the painfully erotic sensation of Thranduil’s cock plunging deep inside him as he fucked his mouth with his hot tongue in a messy, wet kiss.

Bard felt himself edge closer to climax with every hard thrust, Thranduil’s soft moans making him breathless, and as much as he wanted to extend this unique pleasure, his entire body was seized with an increasingly urgent need for release. Raising himself back up, his hand pressed against Thranduil’s chest, he almost gasped at Thranduil’s elegant face wrecked with pleasure, his sharp eyes unfocused as he continued to fuck him with increasingly hard thrusts. Extending his other hand up to Thranduil’s mouth, Bard pressed his fingers against his bottom lip, sighing in pleasure when Thranduil’s tongue darted out to lick at the fingertips before he sucked them into his mouth, his tongue running up the length of the fingers so lewdly that Bard could not stop himself from pushing them so deep into his scorching mouth that he felt him choke around them, Thranduil’s eyes going misty even as a deep groan tore from his throat.

Removing his fingers, Bard pulled back to wrap his wet hand around his cock and began to stroke himself in tempo with Thranduil’s thrusts, which became increasingly rough as he began to lose control, the sheen of sweat that covered his body glistening in the candlelight, his fists clenched in a vice-like grip above the binds as the muscles in his arms trembled from the effort of keeping still. As Bard’s grip on himself tightened, the wet noises of his strokes joining the cacophony of obscene sounds of Thranduil’s cock plunging in and out of him, the combination of the two sensations had him rapidly spiralling towards climax, spurred on by Thranduil’s intoxicated groans. 

Just as he felt himself reach the point of no return, Thranduil once more shifted the angle of his hips as white-hot pleasure tore through Bard with his every thrust, his spine arching as he gripped himself tightly, stroking himself in fast, messy strokes, his eyes closing shut, overwhelmed by the intensity of the dual sensations.

“Look at me,” Thranduil grunted, his voice strained and breathless.

Bard forced his eyes open, groaning at the burning desire in his eyes and the intensity of his visceral pleasure as he moved deep inside him, Thranduil’s hips becoming uncoordinated even as his control over his hands never slipped despite the clear strain in his muscles from restraining himself. Intoxicated by Thranduil’s arousal, Bard impaled himself deeper on his cock as he chased his release, his strokes became more urgent, broken moans falling from his lips, drowning in indescribable pleasure, as Thranduil fucked him with increasingly brutal thrusts until Bard reached his crescendo, his vision going white, his spine arching sharply as he erupted in his hand over several long spurts with a deep groan, Thranduil’s cock milking him through the aftershocks as he felt himself clench tightly around him.

He slowed his hips and as his vision cleared, his breath hitched at the pained look on Thranduil’s face, more aroused than perhaps he had ever seen him before, his thrusts more shallow as though giving Bard time to adjust, every muscle in his body tense as he looked up at Bard with desperate need. Pressing their lips together, Bard kissed him softly, trying to pour the deep sense of affection that he felt in this moment into the kiss, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip, a kiss that Thranduil returned eagerly even as he began making impatient noises, before Bard pulled away to look at him once more.

“I believe you said something about taking me on my hands and—“

A hurricane of movement kept Bard from finishing the sentence as Thranduil ripped the silk cord binding his wrists and in a single fluid movement, flipped them over until he had Bard on all fours, his hands holding him firmly by his hips, as he entered him roughly from behind with a deep growl, plunging inside until he was buried to the hilt before immediately pulling out and slamming back into him, as a shiver ran down Bard’s spine.

“I could have untied your hands,” Bard whispered as he felt warm tendrils of pleasure begin to circle him distantly.

“I couldn’t wait,” Thranduil groaned, his hands on his hips tightening as he thrust deeper inside him.

Thranduil quickly established a bruising, punishing rhythm, pulling out almost completely before plunging deep inside Bard, his hands gripping his hips like a vice, nails digging into his flesh. As Thranduil chased his release with increasing urgency, Bard felt a pleasant warmth that stayed just on the outskirts of arousal without intensifying as he started to meet Thranduil’s thrusts, bucking against him messily, his post-coital state making him uncoordinated.

Just as Thranduil had built up a powerful, consuming rhythm, he slowed down his hips momentarily to lick up Bard’s spine, as if seeking to draw out his pleasure for a little longer now that relief was within his grasp. Suddenly, as his lips ascended, he sunk his teeth hard into Bard’s shoulder, the shock of the pain making him jump even as a mellow arousal enveloped him, moaning softly when he felt Thranduil’s tongue soothe the bite before he reached forward and pressed a wet, tender kiss on the spot just behind his ear. He stayed there for a brief moment, his body covering Bard’s back, before he pulled back and sat up on his knees once more, straightening up Bard’s hips until they were parallel to his. Gripping them firmly with his hands, Thranduil pulled out almost completely before driving the blunt head of his cock in and out of Bard in a fast, shallow rhythm, his breath coming out in short gasps that had Bard wishing for a mirror at the head of the bed so he could watch his face as he fell apart.

He felt Thranduil begin to lose control as his hips sped up and he plunged deeper and deeper until he was slamming inside Bard, the intensity of his thrusts making the bed shake as he fucked him with an almost feral intensity as lush, unrestrained groans fell from his lips. Thranduil’s thrusts became increasingly uncoordinated as he chased his release with reckless abandon, growling as his hips continued to piston in and out of Bard’s pliant, oversensitised body until finally, he came with a long, guttural groan, emptying himself deep inside Bard, his cock pulsing as he continued to roughly pump into him until he was completely spent before finally stilling.

Thranduil enveloped Bard’s body with his own once more and pressed a kiss to his shoulder before resting his head on his back, remaining there for a long moment as intermittent tremors rippled through him as Bard realised he was half-hard already but felt too spent to do anything about it, enjoying the feel of the Elvenking’s body pressed against his so tightly. After a while, Thranduil lifted himself up, pulling out his softening cock gently, and collapsed on the bed on his back, tugging Bard along with him on his descent and pulling him against his chest with a soft sigh.

Bard adjusted his position to place his head on his shoulder, resting his hand on his stomach, Thranduil’s affectionate state making him bold as his fingertips brushed over the toned muscles languidly, his body melting into the embrace. He could not help but reflect on how little time they had left together, his departure planned for three days from that night. What had felt like an eternity when he thought his presence was compelled here by a manipulative king who wanted to take advantage of his kingdom’s dire circumstances suddenly felt like a painfully short period of time as he laid in his arms, wrecked from the ecstasy of Thranduil’s touch. He missed his family desperately and he longed to see for himself that everything was well with his people, as he began to view their welfare with the same sense of obligation and worry that he had for his children’s welfare, but he felt a degree of reluctance to leave nevertheless. 

As inconvenient as his feelings were on the matter, and as infuriating as he often found him, he knew he would miss Thranduil once he returned. It had been such a long time since anyone had bestowed upon him such exquisite pleasure and although he would have never expected it from Thranduil, he reminded him what it felt like to be held — something he did not realise he needed until he felt the tender rush of strong arms enveloping his tired body. As he laid there, lost in his thoughts as he attempted to make sense of his feelings, he suddenly remembered something important.

“You ripped the cord from your gown.” 

“I did,” sighed Thranduil, his voice laced with an unidentifiable emotion.

“See and there I thought you would withstand torture damaging any part of that gown,” Bard teased.

“There is only much torture one can endure and even I have my limits.”

“So are you this protective over all of your clothing?”

Thranduil paused for a long moment as Bard continued to stroke his stomach, before finally replying, “The gown belonged to my father.”

Bard exhaled as guilt flooded his body, feeling awful for using a prized heirloom for such purposes. To his shame, that was not the only emotion he felt as a sharp thrill of lust ran down his spine at the realisation that Thranduil was so painfully aroused that he was willing to damage something so precious to chase his release unencumbered. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“Don’t be,” Thranduil whispered softly as he pressed a kiss against Bard’s forehead. “It is just clothing. Clothing can be repaired.”

They held each other in a comfortable silence for a long time until Bard felt himself descend slowly into the realm of sleep, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of the Elvenking and of home, barely noticing the warm duvet that was placed gently around his shoulders as Thranduil’s arms tightened protectively around him.


	9. Chapter 9

Bard stood in the courtyard preparing for the road, his stomach clenching painfully at the thought of leaving Thranduil and returning to the real world, as he hoped against hope that the magic of Mirkwood was sufficient to lock them away in a moment in time, remaining together as long as they wished before returning. At the same time, he understood the implicit danger of such instincts as he knew that he was likely attaching far greater significance to this brief liaison than Thranduil and that this, in and of itself, was a reason to welcome the time and distance that his leaving would provide.

Still, as he made sure that the horse was saddled and all of his belongings were equipped, he could not help but steal glances in the direction of Thranduil who stood at the centre of the retinue looking majestic as ever in elaborate silver robes over pale blue leggings, the train of the robes settled around him, sunlight shimmering against his ethereal hair and golden circlet, his face unreadable. Once Bard determined that he had no rational excuse for delaying his departure any further, he walked up to Thranduil to say his goodbyes.

“Thank you for these two weeks,” he began nervously, painfully aware of the crowd around them and lacking the experience to know how to express his thoughts in this situation without sounding foolish. “You were right, I did need them.”

“You are very welcome,” Thranduil smiled a rare, genuine smile. “I have enjoyed your time here immensely. Perhaps you could return for another visit, if you are amenable and if your kingdom can spare you.”

As he looked deeply into his eyes, the intensity of their gaze sending a thrill down his spine, he inwardly cursed Thranduil for ensuring that their final goodbyes took place in public as he distantly wondered if that was intentional. He realised he had probably been standing there staring at Thranduil like an idiot for an inappropriately long time and taking a small bow, turned to leave. Suddenly, he found his movement halted by Thranduil, who effortlessly caught him by the wrist as he began to turn, keeping his body facing his. As Bard found himself face to face to him once more, he was stunned to watch Thranduil pull him towards him by his waist with one hand as he cradled his face in the other before leaning in for a long, deep kiss that had Bard breathless when Thranduil finally pulled back with a small smirk. 

Bard could not believe he would do something so audacious in front of the entire assembly, even as he felt warmth flood his body and settle low in his stomach, his body burning where Thranduil still touched it, as Bard’s hand flew to Thranduil’s hair before he could stop himself, his fingers threading lightly through the roots and running down the length, committing the feel to memory, as he felt increasingly unbalanced by the embrace. Just as he was steeling himself to leave, not wanting to leave the warm comfort of his strong arms, Thranduil’s lips darted forward for the briefest moment.

“I will miss you,” he whispered so quietly that he did not think even the elves around them could hear him, his lips so close to his ear that Bard felt his hot breath on his ear, the sensation going straight to his cock as he tried desperately to think about anything else.

“Me too,” Bard whispered back, making far less effort to be quiet. 

They remained there, locked in the embrace, staring at one another for a long moment before Bard finally took a breath and Thranduil dropped his arm to his side. Turning to leave, he did not dare look back, knowing he might never leave if he did, and galloped out of Mirkwood.

****** 

It only took two weeks for Bard to receive a message from Mirkwood, the elf messenger drawing the attention of everyone in Dale who, to his bemusement, welcomed him like a family friend. When he finally reached Bard, he gave him a small parcel, offering to wait if Bard had a return message for the Elvenking.

Stepping inside away from the prying eyes of the town square, he tore the parcel over, his heart racing. Inside, he found an emerald-green silk cord, tied with a fisherman’s knot and torn at the side. As Bard brushed his fingers over it reverently, he was at once struck by affection for the gesture as he could not help but appreciate the significance of Thranduil gifting him something that belonged to his father, as well as immediate arousal at the reminder of that night. Taking a deep breath, his eyes quickly scanned the accompanying note.

> _Dear Bard_
> 
> __
> 
> _A small memento of our time together, which passed more quickly than I would have wished._
> 
> _Perhaps you could come to visit me again? I shall endeavour to procure more gowns for you to ruin with your impatience, if this serves as an inducement._
> 
> _I trust your family and your people are well._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Thranduil_

Bard read and re-read the note several times, scoffing at the prurient reference, before scrambling for a piece of parchment and a quill, scribbling his reply before he could chicken out.

> _Dear Thranduil_
> 
> _I thank you for the gift. I shall treasure it and all the memories it evokes._
> 
> _I would be glad to visit Mirkwood again, though as I recall, it is your impatience that ruined that gown, not mine._
> 
> _I will eagerly await your invitation._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Bard_

Bard re-read the letter and although he was not entirely happy with it, he thought it was likely the best he could do. Folding it away, he sealed it and brought it out to the poor elf whom he found being hounded by some children who were asking him to show them his bow. Upon seeing Bard, he took his letter gratefully with a small nod and made his way out of Dale with speed.

As Bard laid awake that night, his stomach buzzing with vague anticipation, he hoped it would not take Thranduil long to reply. He missed him more than he thought he would and as naïve as this felt, he yearned to see him again.

As days turned to weeks, the anticipation became more distant, a sense of embarrassment at the way he looked out for every messenger washing through him every time. As weeks turned to months, the embarrassment turned into worry and concern. He wondered if Thranduil had forgotten to write or whether something had happened to him. As months became a year, his memories of Mirkwood haunted him in the day even as he revisited them at night, regret wrapping its tender tendrils around his heart and staying there, as he missed Thranduil intensely and felt foolish for it. Once two years had passed, he moved on, in many ways, though when a messenger rode in a part of him still hoped without fail for that long-promised letter, his memories turning bitter as he felt increasingly gripped by a loneliness that he could not quite shake off.

Time moved at a glacial speed as he worked to forget his confused thoughts about the Elvenking and as Bard sat down to write his own letter two years later, his feelings towards him having matured into a complex, bitter concoction, he felt an ocean away from Thranduil even as he could see him as clearly in his mind as if it were only yesterday that he said goodbye to him in that sunny courtyard, a sense of dread enveloping him at the possibility of seeing him again after all this time, distantly wondering if he even remembered him, whilst a not-insignificant part of him hoped he did.

Whatever his own feelings on the matter were, he decided, he could hardly not invite such an important ally to his own wedding. Still, as he handed his note to a messenger, he felt a rush of excitement settle low in his stomach even as he did everything to clamp down on the dangerous feelings that he spent two years repressing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter but it's only here as an intermission before I publish the next 20,000 or so words that I have already written over a number of chapters. As this story is going to develop a lot over the next six or seven chapters, I will be adding new tags and maybe updating the synopsis but I guarantee that the rest of it will contain just as much smut as the first part.
> 
> I will be posting the next chapters regularly so stay tuned and thanks for sticking with this story!


	10. Chapter 10

He watched Thranduil dismount, gracefully pivoting to the ground, the sharp lines of his body encased in gleaming armour layered over riding attire of luxurious fabric, as Bard’s stomach clenched painfully at the visceral reminder of their time together, the memories that had haunted him over the last two years coming back into sharp focus. He was not surprised to find the Elvenking looking exactly as before, his starlight hair glistening in the sunlight as his azure eyes were fixed on Bard and only Bard. He knew he should say something but as usual, Thranduil beat him to it.

“Congratulations on your impending marriage,” Thranduil told him, his voice even, his face a mask of detachment.

“Thank you,” Bard replied, unable or unwilling to break their eye contact, those familiar eyes mesmerising him as before. “And thank you for coming. Your presence has been missed.”

“Has it?” Thranduil blinked, his blunt question taking Bard by surprise as he wondered what those assembled around him would think of the strange turn in conversation, hoping they would not read too much into his words.

“Of course. You are a good friend to Dale. We would not have survived without your assistance.”

“It was my pleasure,” Thranduil responded softly as Bard felt his breath hitch, cursing himself for his weakness.

As Bard looked around he saw the unmistakable admiration and awe on the faces of his people who had assembled in large numbers to greet the Elvenking, to whom many attributed their survival and prosperity. He knew that tales of Thranduil’s generosity had spread far and wide in the kingdom of Dale and the contrast between his people’s view of Thranduil and the majority of Middle Earth, who seemed to consider him selfish, greedy and merciless, never ceased to amuse him. Indeed, he felt glad that his people had a similar opinion of Thranduil to him, even if they were oblivious to one of the motives behind his generosity. However, Bard decided that the longer they remained in the courtyard, the worse this conversation would go and if there was any residual awkwardness between them, it was better resolved — or, ideally, repressed — behind closed doors, away from the prying ears of servants and guards. 

“You must be tired from your journey. My staff will show you to your rooms. Will you dine with me tonight?”

Thranduil paused before giving a slow nod, his gaze still fixed on Bard, his face unreadable, as he was led into the capital by a fawning servant who almost tripped over his own feet in his excitement to be given this honour, as Bard’s eyes followed him until he disappeared from sight.

He thought their first meeting after his stay at Mirkwood would be awkward but he did not expect this. Whatever exciting, confusing and then painful feelings he might have had several years ago were in the past. Thranduil never wrote again, no further invitations were extended. There was nothing. It may have taken Bard an embarrassingly long time to move past what was clearly only a brief affair to the Elvenking but with time, he learned to seal it away in a mental box, the way he had stored the ripped silk cord that meant so much to him and, he thought, to Thranduil, and eventually, the visceral pain of his memories hurt less and the frequent reminders of their brief relationship receded.

Then he met Alma, a daughter of a minor noble who was smart and kind and good with his children. During his brief time with Thranduil, he had rediscovered the simple joy of being held and so when Alma came along, affectionate and tactile, she seemed a perfect fit and being with her distracted him from nursing his memories like a bitter wine. He still thought about Thranduil, never more so when he found himself alone at night, but the sharpness of those memories had softened over time. That is, until he saw him standing in the courtyard, bathed in sunlight, a visceral reminder of the naïve way Thranduil felt _his_ through familiarly and proximity for a brief, foolish point in his life, as he blundered his way into his bed, unaware of the inevitable cost of that exquisite pleasure. Whatever his feelings were on the matter, however, Bard steeled himself to crush them with an iron fist, resolving to leave the past in the past, no matter how unexpectedly difficult this felt right now. He suddenly wondered if it would not have been better to have told Alma about their past, rather than leave her in the dark at her own wedding, but he knew the time for that had passed. There was no way he could tell her now, with Thranduil just a corridor away from their respective sets of chambers, a week before their ceremony.

Bard tried to shake his errant thoughts from his head as he made his way through the town square, finding his children playing with bows in the garden, Sigrid hitting target after target while her siblings struggled to keep up.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Oh, Da, look! King Thranduil got us these bows. Aren’t they great?”

As Bard examined the proffered bow, before using it to fire an arrow, he was stunned by the craftsmanship. The balance of the bow was perfectly calibrated, his arrow cutting through the air with immense force despite the lightweight material. He could not help but also admire the beauty of the bow, the lines of the weapon perfectly sculpted from a rare wood he did not recognise, small animals carved into the hilt with impeccable skill. Bard found himself frowning at the extravagance of the gifts even as he felt a distant warmth when he remembered telling Thranduil that after watching the elves at the battle at Erebor, all three of his children enthusiastically took up the bow, to varying degrees of success. He had no idea whether Thranduil even remembered that conversation. It seemed just as likely that bows were a customary gift among elves.

“Look after these bows well. You won’t find others like these.”

He walked inside the mansion and turned his mind to other matters as he thought ahead to the dinner with anticipation and a degree of trepidation.

******

As soon as Thranduil walked into the room, Bard found himself momentarily speechless. Gone was the riding attire and in its place was a stunning gold gown with a long jewelled train, the circlet on Thranduil’s shimmering hair adding to his ethereal appearance of unattainability, as if something that exists on a different plane of existence, something that can be seen but not grasped. If Bard found himself tracing his eyes over his exposed collarbones or the way the majestic fabric clung to Thranduil’s slim waist, he dismissed it as admiration for the magnificent gown rather than anything more dangerous, looking sharply away when Thranduil caught him staring with a small smirk, a hint of an unidentifiable emotion flashing across his face for such a brief time that Bard was sure he imagined it.

“I hope you’ve brought something more plain for the wedding,” he tried to lighten the suddenly heavy atmosphere, “or all of the eyes will be on you rather than the bride.”

“All eyes will be on me regardless of what I wear,” Thranduil scoffed arrogantly, “but you have no cause to worry. I have brought something more _subdued_. You are free to inspect it in advance, if you wish.”

Somehow, Bard doubted that Thranduil owned any item of clothing that could properly be described as _subdued_ but he kept it to himself, making a mental note to take him up on his offer to make sure whatever he had planned to wear was appropriate. Clearing his throat, he directed Thranduil to the small dining table before taking a seat opposite him.

The conversation was stilted at first, becoming more natural as Bard drank more and more wine, his increasingly relaxed mood seeming to ease Thranduil’s own demeanour, who engaged him in conversation more readily even as a note of something long forgotten would occasionally seep into his words before dissipating into the air as quickly as it arrived. He missed a lot about Thranduil but he particularly missed talking to him, his low, velvet voice soothing him as he felt an undefined attraction towards return as he consumed more wine, making his stomach buzz from more than just the alcohol.

As Thranduil talked about the developments in his kingdom — a safe topic that should have had no hidden subtext — Bard was suddenly struck by a trove of memories that he had revisited many times over the last couple of years even as he sought desperately to bury them. He was suddenly transported back to Mirkwood, lying on the bed after the dinner with Elrond, watching Thranduil throw open the doors and stride towards him, remembering his bruising, possessive kiss as he pressed Bard firmly into the mattress.

Suddenly, the scene in his mind changed and he watched the painfully arousing way Thranduil’s head fell back of its own volition, every muscle in his body straining, when Bard wrapped his lips around his cock, as soft moans fell from Thranduil’s lips, and then Bard was suddenly thrusting deep inside him, relishing Thranduil’s exquisite agony as he increasingly lost control. Belatedly, he realised he had been staring at Thranduil’s mouth and the lips that have haunted him in his thoughts in the day and in his dreams at night.

By the time his conscious mind had caught up with his errant prurient thoughts, it was too late. The damage was done and Bard was mortified to find that he was now fully erect, forced to listen to Thranduil’s stories of Mirkwood whilst his cock strained painfully in his breeches, the object of his fantasies only a couple of feet away. He hoped Thranduil would not notice and although he knew from experience that it was difficult to hide anything from him, as he heard Thranduil’s breath catch momentarily, he put it down to exhaustion after a long journey and tried not to think about it further. He decided this would be a good time to change the subject, the descriptions of Mirkwood triggering too many dangerous memories.

“I wanted to thank you for the gifts. The bows, I mean. They’re beautiful. The children love them.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” he replied with genuine warmth.

“I don’t suppose the craftsman would be willing to sell Dale more bows like these?”

“As appreciated as the sentiment is, I am afraid that the craftsman is too busy to make bows on demand,” he replied with amusement shimmering in his eyes.

Bard felt his stomach tense as realisation struck him, which did little to diminish his arousal, though the distraction did dampen its urgency.

“You made them?”

“I did.”

“Thranduil... I don’t know what to say.”

“You have already expressed your gratitude. I assure you, that is sufficient.”

Bard was frozen to the spot, overwhelmed by the gesture. Still, there was something he did not understand in his slightly inebriated state until his mind finally grasped at what that was as his feelings solidified into thoughts. His letter to Thranduil containing the invitation was dispatched only eight days ago

“You made three bows of that quality in just a week?”

“No,” came the curt answer after a loaded pause. 

“So how did you...” he trailed off, hoping Thranduil would fill in the blanks.

“I began working on them shortly after you left.” After a pause, he added more quietly, “I was working on something for you, too, but it seems I was too late.”

Bard could only stare at the Elvenking, his mind swimming from the revelation. He tried to force himself to not read into those words but failed catastrophically as his mind clung masochistically to the implications. He had often wondered whether Thranduil had just forgotten him. To learn that he had devoted what appeared to be considerable time during their separation to crafting these exceptional bows for his children unbalanced him.

“I did not want to rush,” Thranduil elaborated in a whisper. “I thought I had more time.”

Bard was sure they were no longer talking about just bows as he felt a scorching heat settle in his stomach, the air in the room suddenly feeling thick and oppressive.

“What were you crafting for me?” he could not help but ask, even when he knew he would regret hearing the answer.

“Does it matter now?” Thranduil said wearily.

“I have spent two years in the dark. Yes, it still matters. You owe me the truth.”

“An invitation,” he sighed, “to return to Mirkwood.”

“An invitation that you never sent.” Bard knew he sounded increasingly angry but could not find it in himself to control his emotions, especially in his inebriated state.

“Yes.”

Bard was suddenly struck by an assumption that he knew was correct the second it entered his mind.

“You have it with you now, don’t you?”

A long, uncomfortable pause settled over the room, Thranduil’s intense eyes never leaving his, before he finally answered through gritted teeth.

“Yes.”

“Can I read it?”

Thranduil let out a short, humourless laugh. “That may be the worst wedding gift in the history of the custom of marriage.”

“Even so, I want to read it.”

“Why?”

“Because you still carry it,” Bard replied simply, his words laden with meaning.

Thranduil continued to look intensely into his eyes for a long time as he contemplated his request before he sighed in resignation and reached inside his gown to pull out a parchment, reluctantly passing it to Bard across the table.

“I trust that you will not mind if I retire for the night. It has been a long journey.”

Bard suspected that the reason for Thranduil’s desire to flee the room was that he did not want to be around when he read it, and he sympathised with his instinct to leave.

“Of course. Will you dine with me tomorrow night? Most guests will not arrive for another day.”

“If you still wish to dine with me after reading the letter, I would be happy to oblige.”

And with that, Thranduil marched out of the room, leaving Bard alone with his confused emotions and his murky, dangerous feelings, long buried by time, yet unearthed at the mere sight of the Elvenking. He stared at the parchment for a long time before he took a deep gulp of the strongest wine on the table and with a racing heart, broke the seal and opened the letter.

> Dear Bard
> 
> I write to you from my chambers as I inspect the mirror that you insisted I install at the head of the bed. It is indeed a welcome addition, but of limited utility while you are elsewhere.
> 
> I am sure it will please someone who enjoys tormenting me as much you do that our brief time together has left an indelible mark on my consciousness and that rarely does a council meeting conclude without my remembering how distracted I was after the positively obscene spectacle I walked in on that morning and everything we did that night. 
> 
> Indeed, since your departure my mind has been very busy putting your delicious body into a wide variety of increasingly compromising position in every part of the palace where I have had you, and many where I have not, and not even my iron will and my deep reserves of patience have been sufficient to dislodge the many filthy memories of how you felt against my fingers and how you tasted in my mouth, to say nothing of the exquisite pleasure of how you felt inside me.
> 
> Accordingly, I am writing to invite you to join me for another visit to Mirkwood, to give my overworked imagination a rest and, if you are amenable, create new memories for my treacherous mind to torture me with at inopportune moments after you leave. 
> 
> There is more, of course, which you may have already realised. I have enjoyed your company greatly. Although there are naturally many who admire my beauty, there are few who would dare call me conceited — a charge I strongly deny, by the way — in the same breath. I find myself missing you more than I thought I would and I would like a chance to explore you further, in _every_ meaning of the word.
> 
> I understand that you may be reluctant to leave your family and so I am extending the invitation to them, too. There are so few children in our realm and it would be pleasant to hear their voices echo in our halls once more. You have my word that they would be well looked up by my army of servants who would love nothing more than to entertain and spoil your children, precious as they are, from dawn to dusk. You mentioned they enjoy archery; I would be happy to arrange lessons for them with the best archer in our kingdom, assuming your evidently insatiable libido can spare him for several hours.
> 
> I eagerly await your reply.
> 
> Yours,
> 
> Thranduil


	11. Chapter 11

That night, Bard read and re-read the letter over and over, searching for clues for why the letter was not sent but finding none. Reading a letter that mirrored his own feeling and desires at the time so succinctly filled him with a deep sense of regret for what could have been had Thranduil sent it instead of carrying it on his person for the next two years, for reasons Bard could not even begin to understand.

At the same time, as he read the undisguised lust in his words, he once again found himself painfully aroused, as he was brought back to his time at Mirkwood and the many hours he and Thranduil lost themselves in each other’s pleasure, even as guilt struck him like a blunt dagger. He was engaged to be married in a week. He should not be fantasising about someone else, especially not someone who was attending their wedding, and, as his treacherous mind reminded him, whose chambers were only a corridor away from his own.

When he could not take it anymore, he unbuttoned his breaches and wrapped his hand around his stiff length trying to conjure up images of Alma — sweet, beautiful, desirable — and he imagined how her touch would feel or what it would be like to be inside her, yet every time he tried, his mind kept coming back to Thranduil on his knees, his hands bound behind him, as he sucked him hungrily, or the way he felt when he took him roughly from behind, his memory of Thranduil’s obscene groans when he fell apart making Bard impossibly hard.

His shame at touching himself to thoughts of Thranduil warred with his intense need to relieve his frustration, the intensity of it such that he wondered what would happen if he were to go to him right now. If Bard stepped through the door and kissed him, would he push him away? Or would he kiss him back and begin to tear his clothes off in a way that promised Bard indescribable pleasure?

Deciding that touching himself to thoughts of Thranduil was considerably less bad than seeking him out to make those filthy thoughts a reality, he stroked himself with a firmer grip as Bard imagined what Thranduil would do to him if they were alone right now. He imagined him kissing his neck in that way that made his toes curl before dropping to his knees and sucking him until Bard came hard down his throat, then throwing Bard on the bed and opening him impossibly slowly with his mouth and his fingers until he could take it no more before fucking him with a single-minded intensity, as he gradually lost control. The sound of Thranduil losing himself in pleasure, etched so clearly in Bard’s mind, pushed him over the edge as he came hard over his stomach, his heart racing.

His post-coital bliss only lasted as long as it took him to realise that he just came to thoughts of another a week before his wedding and he felt overwhelmed by guilt. 

******

As Bard opened the door, finding Thranduil standing at the entrance, he could not contain the avalanche of emotions that flooded through his body, cursing himself for not keeping them in check.

“You have read the letter,” Thranduil stated rather than asked as soon as he saw Bard’s eyes, who nodded.

“Why?” was the only word he could summon.

“Bard...” Thranduil sighed as a weary expression settled on his beautiful face.

“You wanted me.”

“I did.”

“You missed me.”

“I did.”

“So, what, that was not enough for you to deign to spend any more time with me? Was I an inconvenient distraction that you finally got out of your system as you finally realised I’m just a bargeman and not worthy of your time? I still don’t understand why you invited my children. Did you want to ensure my presence at Mirkwood back when you wanted to fuck me and this seemed like the most expeditious way of achieving that goal?”

The words rushed out of Bard as all the anger, hurt and self-doubt that he had felt since returning to Dale rose to the surface and he only realised he was speaking in an increasingly raised voice when he saw Thranduil blanch and even with his usual mask of cool detachment in place, it seems he could do nothing to disguise the unmistakeable hurt in his eyes.

Bard’s rage dissipated immediately as a powerful guilt welled inside him and he immediately regretted his words. But it was too late.

“I apologise if I made you feel that way. If you will excuse me, I shall dine alone tonight.”

Bard watched him leave the room as he felt his heart break.

******

He spent the next several hours wondering what to do until he realised he could not spend another moment without apologising to Thranduil. It was late but he knew he kept late hours so his mind made up, he strolled down to his guest room and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” his deep voice commanded.

As Bard opened the door and tentatively stepped inside, he found Thranduil sitting by the fire with a wine goblet, seemingly lost in thought.

“Thranduil,” he began nervously, “I owe you an apology.”

Thranduil said nothing but gestured at the seat opposite him and poured him a glass of wine, then leaned back to watch expectantly as Bard settled down, ignoring the wine entirely.

“I’m sorry for everything I said. Our time together was wonderful but you never promised me anything more. I had no right to expect more and I certainly had no right to shout at you for not wanting something more. Our time together, brief as it was, was some of the best times of my life and I cherish those memories deeply, perhaps too much at times. You have been nothing but kind and generous and you did not deserve how I spoke to you.”

Thranduil listened to him patiently before giving him a small smile laced with sadness.

“Consider it forgotten.”

Bard exhaled a breath he did not remember holding and smiled back at Thranduil, grateful once more for his magnanimity. 

Wishing to lighten the mood that had suddenly felt dark and heavy, he added, “Since I am already here, would you like to show me the subdued ensemble you had planned for the wedding, that I assume cost more than the whole of Dale combined?”

Thranduil smiled more genuinely and rose to walk over to the armoire, pulling something out before walking back to the centre of the room, placing the garment over a chair. Without any warning, he began to undo the clasps on his gown, Bard’s heart racing fast as he realised that he was changing in front of him without any attempt at modesty, though even as he thought this, he cursed himself for expecting modesty from Thranduil. As he uncovered more and more of his ethereal alabaster skin, the body that Bard spent so many lonely nights imagining coming sharply into view, there was nothing he could do to dampen his arousal, as he felt himself harden rapidly in his breeches with every reveal of tempting flesh, not helped at all by Thranduil’s intense gaze, unwavering from his eyes, until he was completely erect. Mercifully, Thranduil stopped at his leggings, as Bard did not think there was any force on Middle Earth that would have kept him from pouncing on him if he had continued. He was so riled up that he barely noticed Thranduil putting on the new gown until he stood before him with his arms out, inviting an inspection.

With some effort, Bard snapped out of his inappropriate thoughts and actually looked at the outfit. Thranduil wore a sapphire-blue silk gown that hugged his broad shoulders and trim waist perfectly before extending outwards into a flowing length, the neck cut low enough to expose his elegant collarbones but with a raised collar on the back and sides; unembroidered but beautifully cut, the colour bringing out the depth of his eyes.

“You look exquisite,” Bard breathed before he could stop himself, as a smug smile graced Thranduil’s lips.

“Not so exquisite as to upstage anyone?” 

“I’m not sure there is anyone who would not pale in comparison to you, whatever you wear,” the words fell from Bard’s lips before he could stop himself and he felt himself blush.

“Except your bride,” reminded Thranduil.

“Of course, except her,” added Bard, as a fresh wave of guilt rippled through him.

They remained staring at each other for a long moment, the temperature in the room rising as Bard’s mind felt increasingly hazy, before Thranduil began to undress once more and Bard found himself watching intently, making no effort to disguise what he was doing, the thick air making it harder to think. When Thranduil finally pulled on a dressing robe, Bard was painfully hard and edging increasingly closer to doing something reckless. As he stepped towards Thranduil, his feet moving of their own accord, Thranduil placed his hands on his shoulders as he looked deeply into his eyes. Bard realised, with a thrill, that Thranduil’s eyes were dilated, even as he gripped his shoulders firmly, stopping Bard from getting closer. 

Bard was too lost in his arousal and his undefined feelings for Thranduil to consider the consequences, even as he distantly realised there would be consequences. What he wanted was to bring their lips together and press himself against his tempting body, not leaving the room until they did everything he had remembered and imagined over those two long years. From the way Thranduil was looking at him, it seemed that he had similar ideas but as Thranduil leaned forward while keeping his body at a distance, he surprised Bard by gently placing a small kiss on his brow, keeping his lips there for a long moment as he inhaled deeply, before he pulled away to press his forehead against Bard’s with a sigh, his eyes closing.

“You should go,” Thranduil whispered.

“Do you want me to go?”

“What I want is to take you up against this wall,” he said in a low, velvet voice laced with desire, as Bard bit down a moan. “But what I want does not matter, Bard.”

Bard could feel the heat radiating from his body, Thranduil’s unique scent enveloping him, his mind flooding with memories of their time together. He wanted him desperately and as the consequences receded further and further in his mind, he found himself wanting Thranduil with such intensity that he did not think he could survive leaving the room untouched.

“Please,” whispered Bard, his breath hitching when he felt Thranduil’s hands in his shoulders tighten, his nails digging into his clothed skin. “If you want me, just take me.”

“Bard,” he rasped, his breathing uneven. “You have no idea how much will power I am currently expending on stopping you from doing something you will regret but even I have my limits.”

“My actions are my own. If I regret something, that is my doing. Now please, kiss me.”

Without warning, Thranduil’s readjusted his hold on Bard’s shoulders and slammed him forcefully against the wall, pinning his wrists on either side of his face but stopping the rest of his body from making contact. For a long moment he simply looked deeply into Bard’s eyes, his gaze occasionally flitting to his lips, his internal struggle evident, as he panted softly. Taking a deep breath, he leaned down until their lips were almost touching as Bard remained as still as possible, not wishing to do anything that might scare him off. His heart raced when Thranduil brushed his lips gently against his with a soft moan, as Bard felt Thranduil’s body tense further, like a tightly wound coil about to snap. They remained there for a long moment, lips barely brushing each other, breathing each other’s air, as Bard’s whole body strained with anticipation. Suddenly, Thranduil pulled his lips away sharply and dropped his head, his eyes closing shut, as he took several deep breaths, his hands still pinning Bard to the wall, before he faced Bard once more, a look of agony on his lightly flushed face, his pupils impossibly dilated.

“You don’t want me?”

A short, hysterical laugh ripped from Thranduil’s throat and he seemed to Bard to be at the end of his tether. 

“I want you so desperately that your impending marriage to someone who is not me is the only thing stopping me from taking you right now, and even that is becoming an increasingly distant concern the more time I spend in your proximity.”

“Oh,” was the only thing Bard could say, his mind hazy with delirious need even as the mention of Alma brought his guilt back to his surface.

“I did not come here to ruin your marriage, Bard. But I can only resist you for so long and if you remain in this room, looking at me like that, in such a state that I can _smell_ your arousal, I may not be able to stop myself. So please, have mercy and leave.”

Bard attempted to control his breathing, even as the heat radiating from Thranduil’s body made his task more difficult, as he stared deeply into his eyes, now completely dilated, full of unmistakable desire, until he collected himself sufficiently to nod.

Thranduil sighed deeply in relief before he loosened his grasp with evident reluctance, letting Bard’s wrists fall limply to the side as he took a long step back, looking wrecked, the unmistakeable outline of his thick erection visible beneath his satin robe. As Bard opened the door, he looked back to see a sad look on Thranduil’s face that he immediately his behind his mask but did not manage completely, and closed the door again, remaining at the entrance.

“Will you come to dinner tomorrow?” 

“I am not sure that would be wise,” replied Thranduil, his voice still thick with arousal. “After tonight, there is a decent chance that I will throw you onto the table and take you right there and then. Perhaps it is best to remove the temptation altogether.”

“That would certainly come as a shock to the 50 or so guests who will be attending the feast,” smiled Bard. 

“Alma will be there?” Thranduil asked, all levity gone, his voice full of emotion Bard could not quite identify. “Are you certain you want me to attend?”

“Of course,” frowned Bard. “Thranduil, why did you accept the invitation to my wedding?”

Thranduil took a deep breath, so long that Bard found himself waiting anxiously for the answer before finally giving the answer, his voice soft and quiet.

“Because I missed you.”

As Bard nodded and finally left the room, he felt his heart break all over again.


	12. Chapter 12

Bard spent the next day consumed by worry, guilt and regret. Despite all of his good intentions and his resolve, Thranduil’s presence had reignited something he had spent two long years trying to stifle and he could not deny that his attraction to him that he had hoped was long dormant was now back in full force, powerful and all-consuming. Still, even he was surprised by how easily he abandoned his principles and his devotion to Alma and how close he came to betraying her. Whatever comforting lies he tried telling himself about how nothing actually had happened with Thranduil in the end — they had not even kissed, really — he could not escape the fact that this was solely down to Thranduil’s resolve, who was willing to resist his unmistakeable desire to protect Bard’s interests, even when Bard was unable to do the same, rather than any action on his part. Had Thranduil not stopped him, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would have betrayed Alma many times over before the sun had risen the next day. 

At least, he wished that guilt and regret were the only emotions he felt. To his shame, he spent a large part of the day replaying the feel of Thranduil slamming him against the wall and how his lips, barely touching his own, had felt, imagining what would have happened next had Thranduil given in to temptation, and he found himself aroused to varying degrees throughout the day. He dreaded seeing Alma even as he longed to see her, hoping that her presence would remind him of what a colossal mistake it would have been to have ended up in Thranduil’s bed last night, hoping that seeing her would make all of his dangerous, consuming thoughts of Thranduil recede deeper into his subconscious, so he could finally find a measure of peace.

Unable to resolve his inner conflict, Bard let the sands of time carry him passively through the day until the time for the feast had arrived. Approaching the high table, he kicked himself for not considering the seating arrangement as he found the seat directly opposite him reserved for Thranduil, though he could find no plausible excuse for changing it. He was, after all, the King of the Elves and it would be expected of him to take a central place at the table. Bard’s only consolation was that he would not be seated next to him, that honour reserved for Alma and a certain King Erdendt of a kingdom so far away that they had never before met, though he understood from his advisors that he was pleasant and easy-going, if a touch boring. Seating himself with a sigh, he poured himself a large drink and watched as the rest of the guests began to pour through.

As he saw heads turn in the room, he looked over to see Alma, dressed in a pale blue gown embroidered with flowers at the sleeves and hem, her long, blonde hair wrapped in a bun, with several loose waves settling around her neck. A warmth spread through Bard at seeing his beloved as he gave her a genuine smile, standing up to get her chair, returning to his seat once she was seated. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, her grateful smile making him temporarily forget his dilemma.

They made idle conversation, exchanging pleasantries about their day, as they watched more and more guests fill the room, the high table itself almost full, with one notable exception. Just as they began to nibble on the small dishes that were brought by the staff as everyone familiarised themselves with their dining companions, a sudden hush fell over the entire hall, every eye in the room fixed on the entrance.

There stood Thranduil in an emerald-green gown, the same fabric as the silk cord that Bard kept safe in a small locked box in his room, the cut of the fabric emphasising his broad shoulder and trim waist, the low neckline almost obscene in this setting, as the flowing robe trailed behind him, his ethereal white-gold hair loose and settled beautifully around his shoulders, the gleaming circlet on his head shimmering in tempo with his hair. Bard spent so long staring at and absentmindedly toying with that cord that he would know the fabric anywhere. The air in the room suddenly felt too thick, making Bard momentarily breathless, and he realised only belatedly that he had been staring at Thranduil with his mouth hanging open as he watched him glide elegantly across the room before he reached the seat opposite Bard and sat down gracefully with a small nod.

Bard knew that the introductions fell to him but his mouth suddenly felt too dry. Taking a sip of his wine so quickly that he briefly choked, Thranduil’s amusement evident from his slight smirk, he recovered and tried again.

“Allow me to introduce King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, an invaluable ally to our kingdom,” Bard announced before adding more quietly, “and a good friend”.

He knew that he should introduce everyone at the table but he could not quite find his voice to continue. He felt so unbalanced by the rush of memories that seeing him in that same gown had brought back that he knew any prolonged attempt at speech was bound to lead to errors, perhaps ones that would offend his guests, and as much as he regretted the breach of protocol, he decided it would be safer to allow his guests to introduce themselves while he continued to stare at Thranduil as if in a trance.

“You must be Alma,” Thranduil said with a small smile, surprising Bard who felt a bolt of panic tear through him as he took another gulp of his wine to steady his nerves. “You are a very lucky woman.”

Bard almost choked on his wine once more. That was not how that saying was supposed to go and he strongly suspected Thranduil knew that. 

“I know,” Alma said airily, without elaborating, as Bard exhaled in relief. “So have you known Bard for long?”

“Two or three years, roughly. We fought at Erebor together, though we have not seen one another since he stayed with me a couple of years back.”

“Bard told me about the battle, though he never mentioned that he stayed at the Woodland Realm or I would’ve tired him out with hundreds of questions. I’ve heard many tales of its beauty.”

“It was a short stay of little significance,” Thranduil replied as Bard felt his heart clench, even as he thought he heard a corresponding note of melancholy in his voice. 

As they left the thorny subject and began to exchange pleasantries, Bard stopped listening to the conversation and lost himself in his thoughts as he watched Thranduil’s beautiful lips that long ago, for a brief moment in time, were his to kiss and a piercing sadness settled sharply in his stomach. At the same time, his body could not help but react to Thranduil’s proximity in the gown that featured so regularly in his forlorn fantasies that the mere sight of it was sufficient to arouse him.

As he turned to Alma, even seeing her pretty face, full of love and kindness, was not sufficient to drown out thoughts of Thranduil, his face, his voice, his scent seizing his mind in a vice-like grip, overwhelming his senses and making it difficult to breath. For a brief moment, he forgot why he was even marrying Alma when he wanted Thranduil with such excruciating intensity until he remembered. Thranduil was not an option. Not now. Not ever. He found himself grateful for the sudden interruption by King Erdendt, who engaged him in idle chatter about trade relations and gave him an excuse to face away from Thranduil until his breathing returned to normal and he almost regained control of his thoughts. 

Finally, the main course was being served and Bard dug into his food, realising only now that he had forgotten to eat at all that day and that he was ravenous. Without meaning to, his eyes wandered over to the Thranduil’s face and settled on his mouth as he watched him eat a shank of venison, his lips wrapping suggestively around the meat as he devoured it with his usual intensity before licking the juices off his fingers in a way that had Bard hard in an instant, as he cursed himself for his weakness once again. He was not even sure if he did it on purpose. Perhaps, Thranduil’s effortless sensuality merely made everything he did seem erotic. Bard did not think the rest of the party would notice his state of arousal as everyone seemed distracted by food, wine and conversation; his only worry was Thranduil and his infuriating perception but as Thranduil continued to eat as if nothing happened, Bard’s breathed a silent sigh of relief. 

His relief was short-lived, however, as suddenly, Thranduil looked up sharply at Bard, his eyes blazing with desire and a hint of reproach, their eyes locked for a uncomfortably long time as Bard felt his breathing grow more shallow and erratic, his arousal palpable and insistent, never more so than when he saw Thranduil’s pupils dilate almost imperceptibly in the candlelight. He had a sudden urge to drop to his knees, pull his cock out of that luxurious robe and take him deeply in his mouth until he lost control at the table, snapping out of his reverie only when one of the guests called him by name and tried to engage him in conversation. Bard obliged, even as his current state of arousal threatened his sanity, and when he listened to him speak, his eyes wandered of their own volition and as he looked at Thranduil once more, he found darkened eyes staring back with an intensity that made him breathless. 

Finally, the plates were cleared up and dessert was served. Without conscious thought, Bard reached for a bowl of cherries, the sweet taste transporting him to Mirkwood and as he lost himself in those bittersweet memories, before he could stop himself, he looked straight at Thranduil, his eyes locking with his immediately, and began to eat the cherry in the same suggestive way as he had years ago, his lips wrapping lewdly around the fruit as his tongue swirled round to suck out the flesh, before sliding his fingers minutely into his mouth to remove the pit. It only took one cherry for Thranduil’s breathing to grow audibly deeper as his eyes darkened further, lust burning in his eyes, as well as something else that Bard identified to frustration.

Without thinking, he shuffled forward in his seat until their knees were touching before sliding his knee along as much of Thranduil’s inner thigh as he could reach, as Thranduil’s breath hitched and he instinctively leaned into the touch before pulling away sharply. He watched him look away and take several deep, steadying breaths. As the dessert plates were being collected and people began to make their way towards the reception hall for a drink, Thranduil turned back to face Bard, a hurricane of emotions kept at bay beneath his controlled exterior. 

“Bard, I have some information that I would like to share regarding an agreement we had been working on,” he said smoothly, his voice dropping an octave. “Might I speak with you in private?”

Before Bard could consider his words, he allowed himself to be led into a small, private reading room, which was mercifully empty, as the door closed behind them. As he stood there, vibrating with desire, unable to think clearly, he found himself instinctively moving back as Thranduil walked towards him, looking more menacing than he had ever seen him, until, with a small yelp of surprise, he felt his back hit the wall, as Thranduil loomed over him despite the negligible difference in their height, his face just inches apart.

“What do you think you are doing?” Thranduil asked, the unmistakeable frustration in his voice making Bard uneasy, even as his proximity and deep voice made him even harder. 

“What am I doing?” he asked, confused by the situation.

“Bard,” Thranduil groaned in exasperation and a hint of lust, “You cannot sit next to your soon-to-be-wife while doing everything in your power to arouse me to within an inch of my life.”

“I wasn’t—“

“Yes, Bard, you were. I am not sure I have ever wanted anyone this much in my long life whom I could not have. It is excruciating. Whatever games we may have played before, I have never known you to be cruel.”

“You were the one who wore the gown!” objected Bard.

“What?” Thranduil seemed genuinely confused.

“ _This_ ,” he gestured to the fabric, “you wore it that night when—“

“I remember,” Thranduil said sharply. “I did not think you would, however.”

“How could I not have? Do you know often I have replayed those memories in my mind?”

Thranduil’s breath hitched, a brief longing flashing across his face before Thranduil schooled his features back to something more neutral.

“I’m sorry,” Bard sighed, “I wasn’t think—“

“It is not easy for me to watch you marry,” Thranduil admitted, his voice dropping to a soft whisper so quiet that Bard almost missed it. “Please do not make it more difficult than it is.”

Bard just stood there, overwhelmed by his confession, rendered speechless by the depth of emotion in his voice as he tried to process the meaning of his words. As he remained silent, he watched Thranduil watch him until he finally spoke again.

“I think it is best if I returned to Mirkwood. I will leave by dawn. I will pray to the Valar for your happiness and I wish you and Alma a long and happy life together. Goodbye, Bard.”

As Thranduil turned to walk away, the sudden finality of his exit made him panic and he could not help but ask the question that he burned to know the answer to.

“Why is it difficult?”

Bard watched him open the door, resigning himself to not getting an answer before Thranduil paused and looked back at Bard with a rare look of undisguised pain.

“Because I did want something more,” he whispered gruffly before striding out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

_Because I did want something more._ He replayed the phrase over and over again and struggled to find any way of interpreting his words other than that which seemed the most obvious. He did want something more.

Bard’s mood as he nursed a drink by himself in the corner of the reception room, faced towards the unlit fireplace and away from the thinning crowd, swung from affection to rage to desire to anger to confusion. 

Thranduil did want something more.

Bard watched Alma — young, sweet Alma — sit beside him and wrap her arm around his back though he could barely feel her touch. He felt numb towards everything around him, so consumed was he on that single thought. He knew he owed a significant portion of his energy and time to her and to thinking through his chaotic feelings to resolve his mixed feelings for her benefit but his thoughts had clung so tightly to his exchange with Thranduil that try as he might, he could not pull them away or dislodge them.

“I’m sorry,” he said without looking at her, “I’m not feeling very well. I think I’m just tired. I will see you tomorrow?”

“Of course, Bard. We will soon have eternity together. Go get some sleep, my love.”

He barely noticed her leave the room and he had no idea how much time had passed until he found himself alone in the room. 

He _did_ want something more. 

Bard walked briskly towards the sleeping quarters, entering his chambers just long enough to fetch something from the drawer, his feet carrying him towards his inevitable destination, praying he was not too late. He knocked on the door and almost jumped when the door opened to reveal Thranduil at the entrance looking at him wearily, without any trace of surprise, as if he had been expecting him. Bard took a step forward, the door shutting behind him, as he found himself face to face with the source of his pain, regret, need and desire, their bodies only inches apart.

“You wanted something more?”

Thranduil took a deep breath, hints of tiredness visible even as he fought to keep his emotions behind his mask of aloof detachment.

“Yes,” he said softly.

“Do you still want something more?” he asked resolutely despite the way his voice cracked, not caring about the many rules of propriety he was currently breaking.

Thranduil was silent for a moment, looking like he was torn between refusing to answer and simply throwing Bard out of the room until he took a deep breath and sighed.

“Yes.”

Time seemed to come to a standstill and for a brief moment, they stood in the eye of the hurricane, their eyes fixed on one another, a myriad of unsaid thoughts and unexpressed emotions blazing in their gaze, as Bard stopped breathing entirely. 

Suddenly, as Bard felt air rush back into his lungs, the stillness shattered in an instant and his hands flew up to cradle Thranduil’s face as he pulled him into a soft, ardent kiss. When their lips met, Thranduil froze against him for a brief moment with a sharp inhale of breath, his body tense, before the coil finally broke and he began to kiss him back with the same desire, need and affection, his arms wrapping around Bard’s waist, as they lost themselves in one another. Their tender kiss rapidly turned heated as they embraced each other tightly, Bard groaning against his mouth when Thranduil deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against his with increasing urgency until Thranduil suddenly slammed him against the closed door, their mouths still twined together. Pressing his body firmly against Bard’s as his dextrous tongue feverishly plundered his mouth, Bard felt blood rush from his head, settling low in his stomach, when he felt Thranduil’s thick cock, insistent and hard as diamonds, against his hip before he began to grind against him, groaning in unison when their erections met.

As he felt Thranduil begin to unlace Bard’s tunic without slowing down his lips or his hips, he was struck by a sudden need for control. Whatever consequences followed, they would be his to own. Summoning what was left of his strength, he broke the kiss and pushed Thranduil back, taking advantage of his momentary surprise to turn and push him against the door, reversing their positions, as he pressed his body firmly against his, the need in Thranduil’s lust-blown eyes making his hips rock against his of their own volition. Bard kissed his lips softly before tracing his wetted lips across his jaw, Thranduil’s eyes closing shut, his breathing deep and ragged, as he began to kiss down his neck, pausing to suck the tender flesh as soft sighs fell from Thranduil’s lips. 

As his lips meandered lower, his fingers unclasped his gown and gradually removed it as he went along, Bard’s skin breaking out in goosebumps when his fingers touched the hallowed emerald-green silk, the last clasp opening when he reached his stomach, as he settled on his knees and sucked on the soft skin just above his leggings, Thranduil’s soft pants making him impossibly hard. As he looked up to inspect his work, he saw Thranduil watching him with a feverish intensity, his dilated pupils shimmering with a burning lust and something akin to reverence. Keeping his eyes trained on him, Bard began to unlace the waistband of his leggings, his fingers brushing over the heated flesh beneath sending visible tremors down Thranduil’s thighs as he threaded his hands gently through Bard’s hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp as he watched him untie his leggings, his whole body strained with anticipation. 

As Bard unlaced the last tie, he roughly pulled down the leggings as far down as his knees, his eyes flying down to watch Thranduil’s long, thick cock — rock hard and lightly flushed — spring up to jut against his stomach, and had to bite back moan. He spent such a long time remembering and imagining taking Thranduil in his mouth on so many lonely nights that he felt dizzy with arousal. He raised his hand and softly traced his fingers up from the base towards the head, wrapping his hand gently around his shaft and giving it a couple of languid strokes as his mouth watered slightly, the sound of Thranduil choking back a moan as his fingers tightened slightly in his hair going straight to his cock. 

Bard raised himself on his knees and gripped him by the base, tilting his cock towards his mouth. Just as his parted lips had almost reached the tip, he felt Thranduil pull him back gently, yet insistently, by his hair with a low growl. Bard looked up at Thranduil’s flushed face, pure lust radiating from every pore, as he tried to catch his breath, and waited for an explanation.

“We do not have to do this,” Thranduil said through gritted teeth, his breath ragged. “It is not too late to stop and pretend this never happened.”

“Do _you_ want to stop?” Bard asked, confused.

“Bard, I am so painfully aroused that I would trade away half of Mirkwood to feel your lips around me,” he panted harshly, his voice strained and thick with need. “But I am not the one who is engaged to marry.”

Bard was struck by a fresh rush of affection at the same time as his own desire mounted exponentially at Thranduil’s state of extreme arousal, as he savoured his self-control which somehow never failed to make him harder. Every one of his senses was so consumed by Thranduil that even his reminder of his betrothed did little to dampen his ardour, as his mind instinctively repressed those thoughts, though the inescapable guilt remained firmly on the outskirts of his consciousness, even as Bard’s immediate thoughts were focused on this moment. 

“So as I kneel before you, my mouth inches from your cock as I’m seconds away from wrapping my lips around you and running my tongue along your every inch of you,” he teased him in a low, silky voice, relishing the sound of Thranduil’s breath hitching, “all I need to do is say the word and you would just stop?”

Thranduil gave him a murderous look as Bard watched the last grains of his self-control slip as a crimson flush rippled across his neck and chest and his eyes dilated until they were almost black, his fingers tightening in his hair. He could actually feel Thranduil’s urge to grip him by the hair and press his cock between his lips, so palpable was his need, as his thighs trembled from the effort of keeping still.

“Yes, Bard,” he finally ground out. 

Warmed by his concern and restraint, Bard could not help but reach for one of Thranduil’s hands where it still rested in his hair, covering his hand with his as Thranduil immediately twisted his wrist to lace their fingers together, the unexpected tenderness of his reaction making Bard’s stomach clench with a dangerous emotion. Bard squeezed Thranduil’s hand once more for a long moment before he unlaced their fingers and placed it back into his hair.

“I have wanted to do this for so long, you don’t think I could stop now, do you?” Bard finally replied, relishing Thranduil’s sharp exhale of breath as his eyes widened momentarily and his fingers tightened in his hair, his breathing growing heavier.

Bard leaned forward and pressed the tip of his tongue softly against the head of his cock as Thranduil’s head fell back against the door with an audible thud, groaning when Bard licked the salty liquid from the tip, swirling his tongue around the head, savouring the taste of him after all this time apart. Lowering his lips a fraction, he began to lap at the sensitive underside of the head, looking up to find Thranduil’s eyes clenched shut, his spine arching slightly off the door, his head thrown back, the ligaments in his neck tense as his flowing hair danced behind him like spilled starlight, his lips contorted around broken moans.

As Bard wrapped his lips around the head, he felt Thranduil buck reflexively into his mouth before whispering something so quietly Bard could not make out the words.

Lifting his lips off him momentarily, he asked, “What was that?”

“Hold down my hips,” Thranduil said more loudly between harsh pants, his voice wrecked, his eyes still shut. “I can’t...”

Bard could not stifle his moan at his words, the sight of Thranduil falling apart making him breathless with lust, as he wrapped his lips around him once more and used both hands to press his hips against the closed door. Taking a deep breath, he began to suck the head of his cock in a shallow rhythm as his tongue flicked against the underside, his eyes flying up to watch Thranduil when a rich, guttural groan ripped from his throat, surely loud enough to be heard in neighbouring rooms, as his hips bucked against his hands with such force that they almost dislodged them. Bard did not think he had ever seen Thranduil in this state of oblivion, so far gone that he was rapidly losing control, driving Bard to take him deeper, inch by inch, as Thranduil’s groans intensified.

When Bard had swallowed most of his length, he paused to adjust, his jaw stretched, and regain control of his breathing. Just as Thranduil’s eyes flew open and fixed on him, moaning at the sight of Bard’s lips stretched around his cock, Bard took him even deeper, fighting his gag reflex and forcing his throat to relax, as Thranduil’s fingers clenched tighter in his hair, a pained groan escaping from his mouth when his cock touched the back of Bard’s throat, as he swallowed reflexively around him. Pulling back several inches, Bard looked up through his lashes at his beautiful, wrecked face and, hollowing his cheeks, began to suck him in a firm rhythm as Thranduil continued to groan, the look in his eyes make him look feral, his hips bucking with increasing urgency against Bard’s hands until, suddenly, Bard felt him tug up roughly on his hair. 

“Bard,” he rasped breathlessly, as a thrill of arousal ran down Bard’s spine, “I’m close.”

Bard hummed and sucked him harder, his rhythm speeding up as he felt his cock twitch in his mouth, Thranduil’s fingers no longer trying to pull him off his cock but tightening harder as he bucked with increasing force into his mouth despite the restraints on his hips, his burning gaze fixed intensely on Bard. As Bard sucked him harder and faster with every bob of his head, Thranduil’s hands suddenly clenched in his hair as his head fell back, his spine arching beautifully against the door, as he came in Bard’s mouth with a feral moan, the salty liquid flooding his tongue as his cock pulsed in his mouth. 

It was one of the most excruciatingly erotic things Bard had ever experienced and as he swallowed his release, he could not stop himself from unbuttoning his breeches and palming himself, knowing he was so far gone that it would only take a few strokes to bring him over the edge. When Thranduil finally regained control of his breathing as his softening cock slipped out of Bard’s mouth, his fingers relaxing in his hair, his lips still parted around soft pants, he looked down at Bard and exhaled sharply. Dropping to his knees, he moved so quickly that Bard could barely track his movement until he found himself pressed against the floor, strong hands restraining his wrists against the carpet, as Thranduil straddled him.

“Thranduil...” Bard complained, exasperated at being denied relief, his frustration mounting.

“Fuck me,” Thranduil whispered, his intense eyes pinning him to the floor, as Bard tried to stifle a whimper. “I want to feel you inside me.”

Bard felt fresh lust seep through his veins but he found his desperate desire to plunge inside Thranduil’s exquisite body warring with his urgent need for a quick release. Closing his eyes, he took several deep breaths, trying to ignore the suggestive way Thranduil pressed him against the floor and how his strong thighs felt wrapped around him. When he finally had his breathing under control enough to speak, he opened his eyes and nodded vigorously.

“I won’t last long,” he warned.

“Maybe not the _first_ time,” purred Thranduil before he crushed his mouth against his in a bruising kiss that had Bard bucking against him with increasing fervour.

“Where do you want me?” asked Bard breathlessly when Thranduil broke the kiss.

“Everywhere,” growled Thranduil as he reluctantly lifted himself off Bard. “But let us start with the bed and work our way from there.”


	14. Chapter 14

As soon as Bard stood up, his head spinning slightly, he felt strong hands wrap around him from behind as Thranduil resumed untying his tunic as he kissed his neck in a way that had Bard moaning as he leaned back on his shoulder to give him better access, drowning in pleasure. Thranduil had quickly removed his tunic and as he began to unbutton the waistband of his breeches, his sinful lips never leaving his neck, Bard let a lavish groan fall from his lips when he felt Thranduil’s erection pressing against from behind as his nimble fingers worked quickly to divest Bard of his rest of his clothing in remarkable time. It was all Bard could do not to whimper when he felt him begin to languidly rock against his backside, as he felt his skin flush all over, and when Thranduil began to brush his fingertips teasingly over his cock as he sucked on his neck with unrestrained desire, Bard felt his toes curl. As he tried to think of something — anything — that would distract him from the intoxicating feel of Thranduil’s body around him as he tried to stop himself from coming there and then, Thranduil twisted around to fetch something from a drawer and the next thing that Bard felt was a large, generously oiled hand wrapping firmly around his painfully hard cock, beginning to work it in strong, sure strokes and he actually whimpered as he distantly felt Thranduil smile deviously into his neck. 

Turning around to face him with a low growl, Bard crushed their lips together, their tongues entwining roughly against one another as his hands aimlessly traversed Thranduil’s satin skin until he broke the kiss to breathe, softly panting, and stared into Thranduil’s eyes so dilated they looked like a midnight sky, the sight making Bard’s knees buckle. He shoved him back, delighting in the way Thranduil allowed himself to be pushed onto the bed despite his unquestionably superior strength, before he crawled in between his legs, the feel of Thranduil’s firm thighs wrapping around his waist making his heart stutter, as he resumed kissing him deeply. Weaving his hands through his hair and running them through the soft locks, he returned his hands to his roots and with gentle force, gave a tentative pull, the sound of Thranduil’s deep groan making him so hard that he was sure he would come before he ever even got to press inside him, the image alone making him dizzy. 

Bard knew he was at his limit but when he began to look around for the oil, he was stopped by Thranduil’s strong hand pulling him back by the wrist, forcing Bard’s attention back on Thranduil’s beautiful face, wrecked with lust.

“Take me now,” Thranduil whispered.

“Without preparation?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t wait a few minutes? Surely your infamous reserves of patience would—“

“Please, Bard.”

Bard perched over Thranduil to look him in the eyes, kissing him briefly on the forehead as he felt an undercurrent of something dark seep into the room.

“It will hurt,” he continued, all levity in his voice gone.

“Yes,” admitted Thranduil.

“You want it to hurt?” Bard asked, his confusion turn to worry as Thranduil closed his eyes.

On instinct, Bard lifted his hand to Thranduil’s, who immediately laced their fingers together, before settling his head on his chest, his arousal waning slightly as he waited for an explanation.

“Bard...” Thranduil breathed.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly. “I won’t hurt you, at least without a very good reason.”

“It is not about the pain,” he finally said quietly.

“Then why?”

For a long, long moment, Thranduil remained silent, clearly reluctant to explain, to the point that Bard almost stopped expecting an answer and just laid there with his head on his heart before Thranduil finally continued.

“If this is our last night together,” whispered Thranduil so quietly that Bard had to strain to hear him, as he squeezed his hand in encouragement, “I want to feel it for as long as I can, to imprint your touch upon my flesh, as fleeting as it may be.”

Bard suddenly felt his heart constricting so painfully that his throat seized up, rendering speech impossible, and he felt tears pool in his eyes as he was struck by emotions of such magnitude that he found himself overwhelmed, unable to do anything but squeeze his hand tighter as he felt his tears fall on his chest as Thranduil wrapped his other arm tightly around him, giving him a moment to recover.

It took a long time but when Bard finally felt able to speak, he shifted up until he was eye level with Thranduil, who brought his hand up to his face and gently wiped away his remaining tears, the other at his lower back, holding him close to him.

“You can prepare me if it means that much to you,” Thranduil said with a smirk that lacked its usual confidence, making as Bard bark a slightly hysterical laugh in spite of himself, the humour dissipating almost immediately.

“You think I came to you for a final fling before I got married?”

Thranduil looked into his eyes for a long time before replying, “I considered a number of possibilities and that one seemed the most likely.”

“And that would... hurt you?”

“It would break my heart,” whispered Thranduil with uncharacteristic tenderness as Bard felt his stomach clench once more.

“But you still wanted to....” Bard said, trailing off when he saw Thranduil nod firmly.

Bard felt his breath hitch at the admission and, overwhelmed with affection, he leaned in to press his lips gently against his, kissing him softly until Thranduil licked his bottom lip and Bard deepened the kiss with a groan, finding himself hardening rapidly once more as he felt strong arms wrap around him, their touches quickly becoming more urgent until Bard found his arousal return in full force, the urgency of his need making it hard for him to think about anything else but plunging inside the warm body beneath him, never more so than when he felt Thranduil’s hard cock press against his stomach. 

“I know we need to talk but I—“

Bard was stopped from finishing his sentence when Thranduil threw the vial of oil up at him with a smug smile, making his breath catch in his throat. Catching the bottle, he held it in one hand as he used the other to trace along his cheekbones and jaw, down his shoulder and across his chest, before settling it on his hip as he painted circles into his skin with his fingertips, pointedly avoiding his cock where it strained against his stomach as Thranduil looked at him impatiently. He leaned forward before changing his mind.

“Turn around?” he said, his breathing growing more shallow when he watched Thranduil twist to turn away from him and sit up on all fours without a shred of self-consciousness, his spine arched deliciously in invitation as Bard rubbed his hip absentmindedly.

“You are achingly beautiful,” he whispered, licking up the base of his spine, running blunt teeth along his sculpted back, looking up as Thranduil turned to face him, a tender look on his face.

“I think so too,” he whispered in response before smirking at Bard.

Bard could not help but laugh, smacking him lightly on his backside, his laughter dying immediately when he heard Thranduil’s sharp inhale of breath as he turned his head to face forward, a flurry of shimmering golden hair flying through the air. Intrigued, he repeated the motion, hitting him harder as he watched his response like a hawk, his heart racing faster when Thranduil moaned softly.

“You liked that?”

“Yes,” Thranduil breathed.

“Is that... something you enjoy?” he asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” Thranduil replied, a note of surprise in his voice. “No one has ever hit me before.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Bard quipped.

Thranduil laughed softly before asking, “You are aware of my reputation?”

“In Dale?”

“In general,” he replied. A moment later he frowned, adding, “What _is_ my reputation in Dale?”

“You’re a local folk hero,” Bard chuckled. “The saviour of the common people and a friend to the poor and needy. I believe there are poems out there about your generosity.”

“Are there, really?” he sounded horrified. “I hope you have disabused them of that notion.”

“How could I do that?” Bard whispered as he opened up the oil bottle, poured a generous amount over his fingers and began to gently trace his finger pads over his entrance. “You are always so generous with me. So eager to please. The way you bend over backwards...”

Just as Thranduil turned around to give him a cold stare, Bard slipped his finger inside, his breath hitching when he felt Thranduil immediately buck up against it. Slapping him again with the same force he watched, mesmerised, as Thranduil’s icy expression contorted into pleasure with a gasp. Adding a second finger, he stretched him languidly at first before his delicious writhing made him needy and as he felt his muscles relax to accommodate around him he felt for that small bundle of nerves, knowing he found it when Thranduil arched his spine sharply with a soft moan as the desire to take him mounted. Wanting to prolong his heady anticipation, Bard repeated the movement with more force at the same time as slapping Thranduil’s cheek with his other hand, his painfully hard cock twitching at the lavish groan that fell from his lips as he threw his head back, impaling himself on Bard’s fingers. As soon as Thranduil’s breathing evened out, he repeated the action once more as Thranduil cried out as though in pain.

“Bard,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Now. _Please_.”

“I don’t want to—“

He was cut off mid-sentence as Thranduil’s head spun round and he fixed him with an intense, urgent look that was so painfully erotic that it made Bard’s toes curl.

“I’m close,” he rasped.

“Already?” he asked, a full body shiver ripping through him when he saw Thranduil nod briskly.

Bard tried to take a deep breath to steady himself, his breathing lost in ragged pants, but this proved impossible as he felt Thranduil’s muscles flutter enticingly around his fingers, his expression strained in desire and frustration, his hair frizzy from the light sheen of sweat around his temples. Pouring more oil on his fingers, he stroked his cock several times until it glistened and, lining himself up, pushed the blunt head of his cock an inch inside Thranduil’s tight heat, biting his lip hard to stop himself from coming there and then, pressing inside further when he felt Thranduil relax to accommodate him, even as his muscles intermittently fluttered lightly in a way that had Bard dangerously close to climax already.

Once he was buried to the hilt he tried to pause for a moment until he felt Thranduil buck up against him, writhing on his cock so lewdly that Bard forced himself to close his eyes, the obscene image threatening to undo him. He did everything he could to still himself but the urge to thrust into that tight heat overwhelmed him and he began to fuck him slowly, plunging deeper and deeper on each thrust, as he savoured the exquisite pleasure of being inside Thranduil, his walls gripping him tightly as increasingly ragged moans fell from his lips.

“I haven’t been with anyone since you,” Bard whispered, his hips picking up speed as he felt his body begin to tense. “Have you?”

“Yes,” Thranduil breathed between soft moans, before he turned around to look at him, his darkened eyes fixed on Bard with a look that sent a thrill down his spine, adding “but not like _this_.”

With a deep growl, Bard gripped his hips harder and angled his hips differently until he heard a guttural groan rip from Thranduil’s throat. Every inch of his body was buzzing with carnal need, the feel of Thranduil’s firm, supple body making him heady as he was struck by an unexpected feeling of possessiveness, driven by something primal and something tender in equal measure. Maintaining the same angle, his hips sped up until he was fucking him with fast, violent thrusts, drowning in their mixed pleasure as Thranduil’s panting turned harsh and ragged. Suddenly, he felt Thranduil’s walls flutter tightly around him and he found himself powerless to stop himself from following him into orgasm as he slammed roughly inside him and just as he felt Thranduil reach climax as his groans became louder, he took a risk and slapped him hard on a toned cheek. The effect was instantaneous and devastating, Thranduil’s spine arching sharply off the bed as he impaled himself harder on Bard’s cock, a deep, guttural groan erupting from his chest as Bard felt him begin to climax, his body seizing breathtakingly around him, pushing him over the edge until Bard’s hips became more uncoordinated and as his head fell back, he came deep inside him over several long, powerful thrusts as Thranduil's fluttering walls milked him through his shattering orgasm, his breath stopping for a brief, transcendent moment.

They stayed like this for a brief moment until Bard gave into the urge and wrapped his body around him, placing his head on his back as he caught his breath as he felt Thranduil tremble slightly beneath him as he caught his breath. Only when he had softened completely did he find the energy to move and slipped down on the bed as Thranduil collapsed on his stomach, his breathing still erratic. Wrapping his arm lazily around his waist, he leaned in until he could kiss his shoulder, content to rest beside him as they both recovered, until Thranduil finally turned to face him, pulling his spent body flush against him before closing his eyes.

“So what happens now?”

“You tell me,” Thranduil replied softly, his eyes closed, his arm wrapping tighter around his back.

“I suppose now you explain to me why you never sent that letter.”

Thranduil opened his eyes and sighed.

“As I started writing it, almost straight away, I began to have these dreams—”

“You had a dream?” Bard was confused about the significance.

“I dreamt of your death,” he whispered.

“So you had a bad dream and—“

“Then I dreamt it again and again and again as the letter burned in my pocket.”

“Okay, so you had a few bad dreams. That was the reason you never wrote back? It was just a dream.”

He watched Thranduil take a deep breath before he whispered, his voice cracking, “Most things will never happen. This one will.”

“That’s why you never sent it?”

“That is one reason I never sent it.”

A long pause descended on the room, congregating around corners like cobwebs.

“Do you love me?” Bard asked, feeling ridiculous as soon as the words came out.

“No,” came the honest response as Bard felt an ice pick slice through his heart even as his confusion grew. 

“Then—“

“But I think I could.”

“And—“

“That’s the second reason. The more time had passed, the more I missed you and the more your mortality haunted me. I had never made a conscious decision to not send the letter. I merely delayed making one.”

Bard shifted so he was lying once again on Thranduil’s chest, his head over his heart, a strong arm immediately wrapping around him protectively as Thranduil paused to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

“I did not realise how much time had passed until I received your letter inviting me to the wedding. Time passes differently for us and I sometimes forget that. It was only when I knew it was too late that I regretted not sending the letter.”

“What changed?” Bard whispered. “I’m still mortal.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “As far as flaws go, it is a significant shortcoming on your part.”

“I’d hit you if I didn’t think you’d enjoy it so much,” laughed Bard as he felt Thranduil’s arm around him tighten.

“Why did _you_ never write?” Thranduil asked gently.

Bard was silent for a long time as long-forgotten painful memories flared up to the surface.

“It isn’t easy for me to trust people or to feel like…” he finally said quietly. “My father. He was a good man to everyone but me and my mother.”

“He hit you?” Thranduil asked, his soft voice laced with worry and anger.

Bard shook his head. “It would have been easier if he had. No, it was not that. He would have these moods where he would take offence at the smallest thing and hold grudges for years. He would spew venom about how weak and stupid we were. He broke my mother’s spirit, Thranduil. She died believing she was worthless.”

As Bard choked on the last word, Thranduil held him more tightly, pressing kisses on the top of his head. It seemed like he wanted to say something but changed his mind and let Bard continue uninterrupted.

“Your father is the one who tells you what the world is going to think of you. It isn’t easy to change how you see yourself when you grow up hearing that… When you didn’t write again, it made sense to me, even though it broke my heart.”

“You thought I did not write because I didn’t want you?” Thranduil asked as Bard nodded briefly against his chest. “Bard, I did not write because I wanted you too much. So much it scared me.”

When Bard said nothing, Thranduil asked, a hint of danger in his voice, “Is your father still alive?”

“No, he died shortly after my mother. He spent his whole life tormenting her, making her feel inadequate, but in the end, he could not live without her.”

Thranduil sighed and held Bard even closer, stroking gently up and down his back. They laid in silence for a while, just holding one another.

“Come back to Mirkwood with me,” Thranduil said suddenly.

“Now?”

“No. Well, _yes_ , if you like. Whenever you are ready.”

“I can’t abandon my people,” Bard frowned.

“No, but you can visit and I can visit Dale. I have been reliably informed that I am beloved here so I can be assured of a warm welcome.”

“I’m not sure how beloved you will be after this...” Bard said as he felt his guilt and his fear re-emerge.

“I suppose now I must ask you what you intend to do.”

Wordlessly, Bard stretched out to where his breeches were lying and pulled a silk cord from the pocket before handing it to Thranduil as he perched his forearms on his chest to face him.

“You have kept it all this time?”

“Of course I kept it,” Bard replied with exasperation. “I spent two years waiting to receive a letter that I had no idea you had even written.”

“You will break off the engagement?” asked Thranduil nervously, more uncertain than Bard had ever heard him before.

Bard considered the question for a long moment before nodding firmly as Thranduil reached up to kiss him on the forehead, his lips lingering there as he brought his other hand up to rub circles into Bard’s back.

“Do you love her?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, in a way. I care for her. I thought I would grow to love her in time but I never felt that kind of intense...” Bard trailed off, deciding not to finish the sentence as Thranduil said nothing. “I did not think you were an option so I resigned myself to that fact.”

“But you kept the cord,” said Thranduil softly.

“I kept the cord,” whispered Bard. “Besides, I thought if nothing else, you might want to get it repaired some day.”

Thranduil looked at him for a long time with an undefined emotion before replying with a small tilt of his head, “That would diminish its value.”

They remained there, staring deeply into each other’s eyes until it all felt too much for Bard, the warmth that suffused his body making his heart race and he needed to break the moment lest it overwhelm him completely.

“Did you really install a mirror above your bed?” he asked as he moved down to rest his head against Thranduil’s chest once more, his hand resting contently on his stomach.

“Yes,” Thranduil chuckled.

“Well, you have taken lovers since so at least you’ve found some use for it,” he muttered as the reminder of Thranduil’s admission of bedding others made his stomach clench uncomfortably, as his hand, which rested on Thranduil’s stomach, began to absentmindedly trace small patterns into his skin.

“I have taken lovers but not in my bedchamber.”

“Why not?” Bard frowned.

Thranduil was silent for a long time before admitting, “It reminded me too much of you.”

Bard said nothing, letting the words rest comfortably in the air as he continued to stroke Thranduil’s stomach languidly, moving a few inches down to his lower navel as he felt his heart beat faster beneath his head. 

“If you only knew how often I replayed those memories when alone at night,” whispered Bard, a note of sadness in his voice, as well as arousal, as he remembered both the scorching fantasies and the irrepressible feeling of loneliness. 

“Tell me,” breathed Thranduil, his heart racing faster.

Bard moved his hand further and brushed his fingers across Thranduil’s cock, a thrill running down his spine when he found him completely hard, placing his hand gently around his length before letting go and continuing to stroke his stomach as Thranduil’s breathing deepened.

“I would lie in my bed, unable to sleep and my mind would drift back to Mirkwood. I would remember being tied to your bed and the memory of your hands and lips made me so hard that I couldn’t stop myself from removing my cock and touching myself.”

As Bard talked, he wrapped his hand around his cock once more, delighting in Thranduil’s breath hitching, pausing to stroke idly along the length before he reached for the oil and flicking the lid off with his thumb, poured it messily over his hand.

“I would sometimes use oil, though I could never find one that smelled like yours, as hard as I looked,” he whispered as his hand wrapped around his cock once more, Thranduil’s heart racing fast beneath him. “I would stroke myself imagining it was your hand, just like this.”

As Bard began to stroke his cock up along the shaft from the base to the head, twisting his wrist at the top before stroking downwards, covering his length in oil, Thranduil started bucking minutely into his hand and Bard felt himself begin to grow hard when he heard him bite back a moan, the air in the room suddenly thick again with arousal.

“Sometimes I would press my fingers inside me,” he said as he sped up his hand, stroking him faster with a firmer grip, the wet sounds of flesh against flesh reverberating lewdly around the room, as Thranduil moaned softly, “and I would imagine they were your fingers, remembering how you fucked me, how you moved so deep inside me, and I would be so close to the edge already I would have to force myself to slow down.”

He paused as Thranduil’s arm tightened harder around him as his nails sunk into his back, the sudden movement almost making him jump, before he had to as readjust his position to shift his own growing erection.

“I imagined you walking in on me and pushing me down against the mattress, replacing my fingers with your cock before thrusting deep inside me,” Bard sped up his hand as Thranduil began to buck into his hand harder, his strained moans becoming more urgent. “I remembered how you took me from behind and what it did to me to see you lose control. I remembered how it felt to take you in my mouth for the first time, how you tasted, and I stroked myself faster until I came hard all over myself...”

Just as he felt Thranduil buck into his hand more erratically, he held him in a tighter grip, working his cock fast with his hand in counterpoint to his hips until Thranduil’s spine suddenly arched off the bed, his nails digging painfully into Bard’s back, as he came hard in Bard’s hand over several long spurts with a deep groan, his heart racing impossibly fast under Bard’s head.

“Then you’d be gone and I would find myself alone again,” he whispered before he could stop himself as he felt sadness seep into his bones, his vague arousal receding into the background.

“Oh, Bard,” Thranduil breathed as his panting began to subside, his heart still beating erratically as he wrapped his arms tightly around him, curling his leg around his thigh until Bard was engulfed by this embrace. “I am so sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two chapters to go now!
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with the story and as always, please let me know what you think!


	15. Chapter 15

Bard only realised that he had fallen asleep when he felt his body gradually regain consciousness, the haze of sleep slowly clarifying from his mind as he became aware of soft lips on his neck as he felt increasingly warm all over, even as he fought against the instinct to wake up. He felt himself linger between consciousness and oblivion as he felt his arousal grow distantly until suddenly, he felt a warm mouth wrapped around his cock, his eyes flying open with a groan. Still fuzzy from sleep, his body acted of its own volition, thrusting into that wet heat until it was suddenly gone, making Bard whine at the loss.

“I thought that would wake you up,” he heard Thranduil’s deep voice inches from his cock as he longed to feel his lips around him again. 

Without thinking, he weaved his hand through his hair and pulled forwards in an uncoordinated attempt to bring him back to where he wanted him as Thranduil escaped his grasp with a chuckle.

“First, join me for a bath.”

“A bath?” Bard frowned as he watched Thranduil rise off the bed, a dressing robe around his body.

“I had a servant fetch some hot water while you slept,” he said as panic gripped Bard, who sat up straight, suddenly wide awake. Before he could say anything, Thranduil added, as if reading his mind, “The servant was one of mine. You can rely on her discretion.”

Breathing a small sigh of relief, Bard followed Thranduil into the adjoining chamber. He knew that he could not avoid the issue forever and that the bubble of this night, of him alone with Thranduil, would end by morning and time would once again restart. As far as everyone was concerned at this moment in time, he would be marrying in three days’ time and he knew this meant he would have many difficult conversations ahead, even as he had no idea how he would explain his change of heart, so sudden and so uncharacteristic, or how he could face Alma as he broke her heart. Until then, however, Bard just wanted one night — one selfish, perfect night — alone with Thranduil without reality intruding and as Bard watched him slide off his robe as he lowered himself into the hot water with a hiss, all other thoughts dissipated from his mind. His eyes fixed on Thranduil, he climbed into the spacious bath, settling opposite him as he watched him begin to wash his body in such a hypnotising way that he could do nothing but stare until Thranduil finally finished after dipping his hair back in the water, and moved towards him with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You seem to have forgotten how to wash”, Thranduil said in a deep, baritone voice, his body now inches from Bard. “Would you like me to help you?”

Bard nodded and watched as Thranduil poured bathing oil into his palm, spread it between his hands and began to wash Bard’s chest, rubbing his muscles almost-lewdly then flicking his nipples with his oiled thumb, before rolling the nubs gently between his thumb and middle finger in a way that made all the blood rush downwards from Bard’s head, his cock hardening rapidly at his every touch as he sighed quietly in pleasure.

Thranduil brought his hands higher and began to stroke down his arms, kneading each muscle as he went along, his intense gaze never leaving Bard’s eyes, who began to pant softly, suddenly impatient to feel his hands somewhere else. Thranduil moved forward another inch until their noses were almost touching before he traced his hands back up to Bard’s chest, this time moving lower, his hands submerging in the water, as his fingertips caressed Bard’s stomach, moving lower and lower, before he spread his fingers and worked them slowly over Bard’s stomach. The increasingly aroused look in Thranduil’s eyes, still glued to his, only served to heighten his lust.

Just as Bard did not think he could take anymore, Thranduil’s sinful hands snaked around his back and rubbed suggestively down his back, sending minute shivers down Bard’s spine, before settling around his hips, hands splayed across his lower back. He desperately wanted Thranduil to pull him flush against his body as he felt his now fully-erect cock jut against his stomach but he did not dare interrupt Thranduil’s ministrations. Bard exhaled a breath he did not know he was holding when Thranduil’s hands suddenly twisted around and began to stroke down his legs, massaging his inner thighs with particular zeal, a smirk settling on his beautiful face when Bard instinctively spread his legs wider, his breathing now ragged, as Thranduil’s hands moved dangerously close to his painfully-hard cock but moving no further for a long moment.

Just as Bard was about to beg, he suddenly felt a strong hand wrap carefully around the head of his cock, his hips stuttering forward before he could stop himself, groaning when Thranduil gripped him a fraction tighter and slowly stroked down to the base before pulling back up to the top. Leaning forward to kiss him, Bard whined when Thranduil immediately pulled his lips away just out of his reach, his face illuminated with smug amusement, his eyes darkened by lust, as his hand moved torturously slowly up and down his cock. Bard felt tell-tale tension begin to build up in his stomach but as Thranduil’s hand continued to stroke him at a pace that denied him any relief, he felt his frustration mount increasingly until he began to try to buck into his hand, growling when Thranduil loosened his hand every time, denying him the pressure that he craved. For an electrifying moment, Thranduil leaned in for a kiss so sensual in its softness that Bard actually gasped, yet so brief that Thranduil pulled back almost immediately, as Bard felt his senses leave him. His eyes flew shut when Thranduil smiled deviously and pressed his plush lips against Bard’s once more, his tongue barely brushing against his before he swiftly pulled away once more. Never in his life could he have imagined that such a small, delicate gesture could be so painfully erotic.

“Thranduil—” he began to whine in an undignified tone before he was cut off.

“Before I do this,” purred Thranduil in a deep voice like crushed velvet, “I ask you to keep in mind that despite my many talents, I cannot breathe underwater and if you cannot control yourself, you may find yourself explaining to everyone on Middle Earth how you came to drown me in a bathtub.”

“Do what—” Bard began before he cut himself off with a deep groan as he felt Thranduil’s lips wrap around him, taking him by surprise, his dive underwater so quick that he did not track his movement.

He felt him take him deeper into his mouth and his hands immediately flew down to Thranduil’s hair before he remembered his words with a bolt of panic and forced his hands back out of the water, placing them firmly on the sides of the tub on either side of him, his fingers clutching painfully onto the rim of the tub as Thranduil took him even deeper. As Thranduil began to bob his head in an infuriatingly slow rhythm, such that every inch of his body thrummed with the need for more friction, the only thing that stopped him from thrusting into that delicious heat was Thranduil’s warning, as he felt his thighs shake from the effort of keeping still.

As Bard sat there, arms spread and fingers holding on to the rim of the tub in a vice-like grip, as Thranduil continued to suck him languidly, his mouth wrapped softly around him, his rhythm slow and deliberate, Bard vibrated with urgent need, desperate to grip him by his hair and thrust hard into his mouth, at the same time as his genuine fear of losing control and holding Thranduil down underwater restrained him from acting on his urges, made all the more difficult by the fact that Thranduil made no effort to restrain his hips.

With every bob of Thranduil’s head, as Bard felt his cock slide in and out of his deliciously hot mouth, the need to find release mounted as his climax remained agonisingly out of reach until the urge to hold Thranduil down and fuck his mouth became so overwhelming that Bard could not stop the sob that ripped from his throat, his hands tightening painfully on the bathtub rim as he felt himself flush all over, his breath coming out in heavy, uneven pants, his entire body trembling from the effort of restraining himself. Tipping his head back, he shut his eyes tightly and tried to regain control of his breathing, all to no avail. When he could take it no longer, he insistently pulled Thranduil up by his hair and was struck by immense relief when he watched him emerge from the water and take a deep breath.

“Please,” Bard panted harshly. “Can we move outside. Out of the water.”

A smug smile spread across Thranduil’s face as he elegantly stepped out of the bath, Bard groaning at the sight of his thick cock straining against his stomach, as he climbed out after him with significantly less grace, until they stood face to face in the bathing chamber.

“I was beginning to wonder how much more you could take,” Thranduil purred, “I had no idea you were capable of such self-restraint. I was sure you would lose control and hold me down.”

“You think I would risk...” Bard began, his mind still hazy from lust as his cock throbbed painfully against his stomach, before a realisation hit him like a brick. “Your life was never in danger, was it?”

“No,” Thranduil smirked. “There is no hold you could have had me in that I could not have escaped. Besides, I can hold my breath for a _very_ long time.”

“So you were just torturing me? Again?” demanded Bard, indignant, even as his whole body still buzzed with need, desperate for relief, despite his anger.

“Yes,” Thranduil whispered, his eyes sparkling with challenge.

Infuriated, Bard gripped him roughly by the hair with both hands, the small, unexpected moan from Thranduil going straight to his cock, before pushing him harshly to the hard floor, feeling perilously close to the edge at the sight of him on his knees, looking up at him with a smug look that Bard intended to wipe off his pretty face. Holding his cock by the base, he angled it towards Thranduil’s tempting mouth.

“Suck,” Bard commanded softly, his anger making him bolder.

He watched Thranduil’s pupils visibly dilate as he leaned forward just far enough to wrap his lips around the head, his dexterous tongue swirling around his head, but going no further, as he looked up at Bard defiantly. With a growl, Bard threaded his other hand back into his hair and held him still by the roots in a painful grip as he began to press his cock deeper into his hot mouth, inch by inch, as Thranduil’s pupils dilated further and he moaned around him, the vibrations making his toes curl. He felt Thranduil relax his jaw to accommodate him, his lips stretched tightly around him, as he forced every inch of his cock down his throat, groaning deeply when he felt Thranduil briefly choke as he hit the back of his throat before he regained control over himself, his eyes misty, as he swallowed around his cock so enticingly that Bard had to stop himself from coming there and then. 

Taking a deep breath, he pulled out halfway before plunging into his mouth, repeating the motion several times, his overwhelming arousal and residual anger driving him to thrust into his mouth with increasing force. He was so intoxicated by Thranduil’s reactions to the rough treatment — his breathing ragged, skin flushed all over, his rock-hard cock straining painfully against his stomach and leaking precum — that he lost himself in his pleasure and began to fuck his mouth with reckless abandon, repeatedly slamming his cock down his throat hard enough to make him choke, the exquisite pleasure of his throat muscles clamping down around him as Thranduil’s misty eyes burned with lust pushing him closer and closer to the edge. 

Suddenly, he saw Thranduil begin to palm himself in tempo with his thrusts, the sight of him stroking himself roughly with such obvious need as he repeatedly choked on Bard’s cock pushing Bard over the edge, and he emptied himself down his throat with a long, guttural groan, holding him down on his cock by his hair as he continued to fuck his mouth with deep, rough thrusts until he was completely spent. 

As hazy and unbalanced as he felt after such a powerful orgasm, he forced himself to his knees, his cock falling out of the warmth of Thranduil’s mouth, a shiver running down his spine when he watched him swallow, before he wrapped his hand around his wrist, stilling his hand.

“Bard,” Thranduil growled, frustration blazing in his eyes. 

“Are you close?” asked Bard, his breathing still uneven and his voice hoarse.

“Yes,” breathed Thranduil.

“And you think you deserve to come after what you put me through?”

“I have _more_ than made it up to you,” smirked Thranduil, one eyebrow raised, his voice like gravel.

“You made me think I might kill you if I lost my composure while you did everything possible to make me to lose my composure. I don’t think I have ever been that stressed before outside of a battlefield in my life.”

Thranduil chuckled deeply before he sighed and moved both hands behind him, clasping his hands together behind his back in a clear gesture of resignation and submission, making Bard’s head spin with images of everything he could do to him.

“How do you intend to punish me?” he asked with mock concern even as his voice dropped an octave and his breathing audibly sped up.

“I would have you on the bed on all fours as I prepared you,” Bard said in an almost clinical, detached voice, “Then, I would fuck you but only if you haven’t come yet.”

Thranduil gave him a sceptical look as he commented, “I fail to see the punishment in that.”

“Then there should be no reason for you to still be sitting here instead of where I told you to be,” Bard teased.

Thranduil looked deeply into his eyes for a long moment, the intensity of his gaze making Bard’s stomach fill with a pleasant warmth, before he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against Bard’s lips, kissing him gently for a long moment, before he pulled away. Bard watched him stand up and walk back into the bedroom, jump up gracefully on the bed and settle on all fours, turning to face Bard with an impatient look on his face before he summoned the concentration to join him.

As Bard positioned himself behind Thranduil’s spread legs, he was suddenly very grateful that he had already come twice that night or he did not think he could manage what he had planned to do. He ran his hands across his lower back, over his hips and down his thighs, delighting when he felt him lean into his touch, before settling his hands back on his hips.

“Ready?” he whispered, taking a deep breath when he saw Thranduil nod his head and turn to face forward.

Spreading his cheeks with his hands, he leaned forward and licked tentatively around his entrance as a rush of air left Thranduil’s lungs in a loud exhale. Encouraged, Bard licked around more firmly before wriggling the wet tip of his tongue just inside him as a long, lavish moan from Thranduil’s lips. Bard continued to lap at the entrance, his tongue darting minutely inside, before he contracted his tongue and began to spear inside insistently, plunging in as deep as he could as he felt his walls flutter and relax around him, before pulling out a little and thrusting his tongue in and out in a leisurely rhythm as Thranduil began to pant harshly, his fingers digging into the mattress. Once he felt his muscle relax more, he spread his cheeks wider with his hands and speared his tongue inside once more, probing deeper until Thranduil began to moan softly. Mesmerised by Thranduil’s reactions, Bard wanted to drag it out for as long as he could until Thranduil could not take it anymore, as he continued to fuck him languidly with his tongue, relishing the way he began to writhe back against him. At the same time, he lowered one of his hands and with the gentlest pressure, brushed his fingers over his balls as a feral groan ripped from Thranduil’s chest.

“Bard,” he growled. “Now.”

“I’m not ready,” Bard replied dismissively and, on a whim, dipped his head to lick him where his fingers had just been, pulling a stuttering moan from Thranduil.

“Then let me suck you until you are,” Thranduil said in a deep, gravelly voice, thick with arousal as he turned to face Bard. “It will not take long.”

Despite his recent orgasm, the sounds Thranduil was making, his desperate arousal and the feel of his body beneath his tongue conspired to make him half-hard already but as tempting as Thranduil’s offer was, he drew on his will power and tried to banish the images that Thranduil’s words conjured.

“No, I am happy to wait,” he replied. “Besides, I haven’t finished preparing you yet.”

As he said this, he reached for the oil that was left on the bed and, covering his fingers, pressed two fingers inside him, finding very little resistance from Thranduil’s stretched muscles and began to search for a specific spot. It seemed Thranduil understood what he was about to do as a quiet moan fell from his lips in anticipation, before suddenly, a full body shiver rippled through him, his spine arching, as his head fell forward with a groan. Greedy for more, Bard repeated the movement, over and over, until Thranduil’s groans reached a fever pitch, his damp hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his back and shoulders, his fingers clutching onto the mattress in a white-knuckle grip.

“Bard,” he panted, “I am so close... fuck me or I will come on your fingers.”

A bolt of lust run down Bard’s spine, his cock now completely hard and straining against his stomach, the image of Thranduil coming just from his fingers making him itch to sink deep inside him. Drawing on his lingering anger, Bard did everything he could to restrain himself, as he continued to stroke that sweet spot with his fingers.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Thranduil replied through gritted teeth.

“Then you will just have to control yourself,” Bard whispered.

His fingers moving mercilessly against that bundle of nerves, Bard brought his other hand down and slapped him hard on his toned cheek, shivering when he heard Thranduil stop breathing for a second before he let out a pained groan, his muscles fluttering wildly around Bard’s fingers in a way that was making it very difficult to resist plunging inside him. He could feel Thranduil cling on to the precipice of climax as he marvelled at his self-control.

“Bard,” Thranduil groaned, demanding, the tension in his voice palpable, and Bard’s own resolve faltered in the face of the temptation of the ethereal creature before him writhing so deliciously on his fingers, a hair’s breadth away from climax.

Bard removed his fingers and, reaching for the vial, drenched his cock in oil before straightening up Thranduil’s hips, one hand on his hip, as he watched his cock hover just above his entrance, the image making him impossibly hard. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the blunt head inside with a groan as Thranduil’s muscles fluttered wildly around him, pushing inside so slowly that Thranduil began to buck up in an attempt to impale himself on his cock faster, the image making Bard lose control and thrust inside in one movement as he buried himself to the hilt. 

Just as he tried to catch his breath, he suddenly found himself on his back, as Thranduil flipped them over with effortless strength, Bard’s stomach clenching hard at the sight of Thranduil riding his cock with increasing urgency, his eyes fixed on Bard, groaning when Bard moved past his surprise and began to meet his thrusts, the view of his cock sliding in and out him making him dizzy. He continued to thrust up into his delicious body as Thranduil rode him faster and faster until he watched Thranduil approach climax, his spine beginning to arch as his lips contracted around silent moans, and Bard suddenly wanted more friction, more leverage. 

“Wait,” he breathed. “Turn around?”

He watched Thranduil swallow hard as he considered his request in confusion, his hips slowing down as if without conscious thought.

“Bard...” he finally said in a warning tone, his voice breathless.

“I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll see stars,” Bard promised, delighting when Thranduil growled, took a deep breath and seemed to acquiesce. 

Thranduil lifted himself with clear reluctance before quickly settling on his hands and knees, looking back at Bard impatiently as he climbed up behind him and gripped him firmly by the hips.

“Do not disappoint me,” Thranduil warned as Bard prepared to mount him.

Taking a deep breath, Bard plunged deep inside him and immediately established a fast, brutal rhythm that had Thranduil moaning like an animal in heat, slamming into him over and over and over again as the bed shook beneath them. Changing the angle of his hips until he heard a pained groan from Thranduil, he continued to pound into him, sweat dripping down his back, as he drove into him with almost violent thrusts, as Thranduil bucked against him in tempo, his muscles fluttering around Bard’s cock so hard that he had quickly reached the point of no return. Suddenly, Thranduil arched his spine sharply, his head falling back, his eyes closed shut, as he came hard over several powerful spurts, his groan loud enough to be heard across the corridor, clamping down so hard on Bard’s cock that his vision momentarily went white as he slammed into him with increasingly erratic thrusts until he spilled himself deep inside him, moaning as his walls milked him through the aftershocks.

They remained there for a moment as Bard leaned forward and after brushing locks of his gold-spun hair from his back, pressed several wet kisses into his shoulder, drawing a contented hum from Thranduil, who leaned into the touch.

****** 

As they collapsed around each other, sweaty limbs intertwined, they caught their breath together, lips kissing lips and then skin, hidden away in their small bubble, a private sanctuary from the wider world. If they held one another more tightly when the first rays of the sun intruded upon their night, neither commented on it, until Bard finally spoke, his head on Thranduil’s heart, as he pulled him closer.

“What’s on your mind?”

“A poem,” Thranduil replied hesitantly after a moment, an almost imperceptible note of sadness in his voice.

“How does it go?” Bard asked tentatively, unsure if he wanted to know.

For a long time, Thranduil said nothing, his eyes closed as he breathed deeply, until finally, he sighed and began to speak.

“ _I work all day, and get half-drunk at night.  
Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.  
In time the curtain-edges will grow light.  
Till then I see what’s really always there:  
Unresting death, a whole day nearer now,  
Making all thought impossible but how  
And where and when—_"

Thranduil choked on the last line as Bard heard him stifle the hurricane of emotions that threatened to break through his carefully maintained exterior, his breathing ragged, as Bard held onto him more tightly.

“We do not have to do this,” Bard whispered cautiously, his heart clenching painfully. “We could walk away from each other now.”

A feeling a dread built in his stomach the longer Thranduil remained silent until he shifted down to face Bard, their faces inches apart, as he curled his arm protectively around his waist.

“I think it is too late for that,” he replied with a small smile, laced with sadness and some uniquely tender emotion that Bard could not quite place, before bringing their lips together for a brief, gentle kiss. 

“Good, because otherwise things would be very awkward, what with me owning half of Mirkwood,” Bard smiled.

“What?” Thranduil frowned.

“You said you would trade away half of Mirkwood just to feel my lips around you,” Bard explained, as Thranduil’s melodic laugh reverberated around the room.

“I should be grateful if you would refrain from sharing that with my subjects.”

“Or what?” Bard teased.

“Or I would have no choice but to tell your people that you were prepared to forfeit Dale’s share of the dwarves’ treasure and _what_ you were prepared to trade it away _for_. I may be exceptionally gifted but even so, I doubt they would agree that my bringing you to climax would warrant such a heavy price.”

Bard laughed, the lightness of his words momentarily chasing away his darker thoughts, and leaned in to press their lips together, enjoying the long, soft kiss as they held each other more tightly, before Bard finally pulled away to speak.

“I need to speak to Alma.”

“Now?” Thranduil frowned.

“Now. I cannot let another minute pass, lying here blissfully in your arms, as she looks forward to a wedding that will never happen.”

Thranduil sighed, raising himself up into a seating position as Bard did the same. He stared at Bard for a long moment, a rare hint of nervousness in the way his gaze flitted between his eyes, before he pressed a soft kiss to his brow.

“Come back to me,” he whispered.

“Always,” Bard promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought of the chapter — good or bad! I’ve actually extended this story so there will be two more chapters now, one of which will be the epilogue, and as I’m editing what is basically the ending, I would really appreciate some feedback because I’m slightly nervous about it and I don’t know if I should re-write it or if I should maybe end the story here?
> 
> I’d be curious to know if you liked the smut in this chapter or if it’s less exciting now that they’re back together so there’s less tension. 
> 
> Also, I wasn’t sure if people would enjoy the reference to Philip Larkin’s Aubade as much as I do so let me know either way!
> 
> As always, I live for your kudos and comments.


	16. Chapter 16

Although Thranduil was not there when Bard sat down to speak with Alma after interrupting her breakfast, his presence was felt by both of them regardless. Bard believed in doing the right thing and whilst he knew that leaving someone days before their wedding was one of the worst things he could do to a person, that choice felt out of his control, such was the strength of his feelings for Thranduil, and he did not think it would be fair to Alma to marry her when his heart laid elsewhere, even if he could bring himself to do it. Nevertheless, if he had no choice but to break her heart, he would at least do something that was within his control. He would tell her the truth. He owed her that much.

“You love another?” she asked, a silent tear trailing down her cheek. At Bard’s small nod, she asked, “Who is she?”

Bard took a deep breath. “He. Thranduil.”

“The Elvenking?” she asked, bewildered, her confusion overshadowing her distress momentarily.

“Yes.”

“So all this time, while we were planning the wedding, you—”

“No, Alma. Nothing like that. We haven’t seen each other in two years. We only… reconnected last night.”

“Oh,” was all she could say as she processed this information.

“I know this will mean little to you but I am so sorry, Alma. If I went through with it, I would spend our entire lives together wondering what could have happened with him, missing him… you deserve better. You deserve so much better than that. Than me.”

Alma sat there looking into the distance for a long time, her brow furrowed, as Bard waited for her to speak, his stomach clenching painfully. Finally, she turned to Bard again, a look of determination on her tear-stained face.

“There is probably something that I should have told you before but I suppose now is as good a time as any. When you proposed marriage, I hesitated. I never told you why. I think I owe you the answer now. There was someone else, Bard.”

“You loved another?” Bard frowned.

“I did. Still do, I think. You see, despite the image that my father projects to the outside world, we are poor. A noble family on the brink of destitution is hardly novel but I was too ashamed to tell you nonetheless. It was expected of me and my sisters to marry well. And he was...”

“Poor?” asked Bard sympathetically.

“Yes,” smiled Alma sadly. “He was poor. And you were not. Do not misunderstand me, I felt great affection for you and I knew that I would learn to love you in time. But if I had the luxury of marrying whomever I liked, as you do, I would… have chosen him. So I understand, Bard. As humiliating as this is, I understand.”

“You should be with him now,” Bard said softly.

“My family’s financial circumstances haven’t changed,” she smiled sadly.

“No, but maybe his can. Should he come into the possession of a large dowry, for instance, I imagine your father would be considerably more open to the prospect of your marriage.”

“I will not have you buy me off,” she said sharply, frowning.

“It is not like that, Alma. I am currently in possession of such a dowry, intended for you upon our marriage, which I suddenly have no need for.”

“The Elvenking does not require a dowry?” she asked wryly.

“The Elvenking owns slippers that cost more than the dowry,” Bard laughed briefly. “Which is a reflection of his absurdly extravagant tastes in fashion rather than the size of the dowry. Take it, Alma. We have already arranged and paid for a lavish, stately wedding. It would be a shame to waste it.”

“He is a farmer,” Alma laughed in spite of herself. “I fear a lavish, stately wedding would be too much.”

“What kind of a ruler would I be if I decided that the money already spent on the wedding should go to waste lest a farmer be permitted to have a lavish wedding? Besides, the people have been looking forward to the occasion. They deserve a day of celebration. Take the dowry, let him present it to your father, marry him on Sunday with all of our people in attendance. And if anyone should question the propriety of any of it, I will oversee the celebrations so there can be no doubt about whether I approve. I am, after all, the King.”

Alma stared at him for a long moment, deep in thought, before pulling Bard in for a hug, her delicate arms pressing him firmly against her, her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered, as her tear fell on Bard’s shoulder.

******

When Bard returned to Thranduil’s chambers, his heart considerably lighter, he found himself momentarily speechless at the sight that greeted him. Thranduil reclined on the bed, his head resting on a his bent arm behind him, completely nude, his platinum hair spread in waves around his head like spilled starlight, his alabaster skin almost shimmering in the early rays of the day, his sapphire-like eyes glittering with an undefined longing when he saw Bard enter. As Bard’s eyes traced his lightly-toned chest, his sculpted waist, his impossibly long legs, he felt something akin to awe at the ethereal creature before him and once more wondered what the great Elvenking was doing slumming it with the pauper King of Dale.

“As much as I enjoy being looked at,” Thranduil said in a low, rich voice, “I much prefer being touched.”

His words snapped Bard out of his reverie, though they did nothing to diminish the reverence that he currently felt for him. Bending over him, his knee pressed into the mattress, his hand placed on the other side of Thranduil for balance, he leaned down and pressed a featherlight kiss against his lips, sighing, before kissing him less chastely, pouring all of his emotions into his lips as Thranduil kissed him back passionately but otherwise remained still, as if respecting the moment.

Pulling away slightly, Bard whispered, “I love everything about you.” That was as close as he could come to expressing the depth of his feelings at this moment.

As a small smile graced Thranduil’s face, Bard moved lower and began to kiss down his neck and then chest, drawing small sighs of pleasure and contentment from Thranduil, until he reached his stomach and pressed minute kisses along his erect shaft, Thranduil’s breathing growing increasingly shallower, his breathing coming out in small gasps.

“What do you desire?” asked Bard, echoing Thranduil’s words all those years ago, his breath ghosting over Thranduil’s flesh.

“You,” Thranduil breathed. “I desire you.”

“You will have to be more specific,” teased Bard.

Thranduil pulled him up gently until they were face to face and kissed him intensely, his eyes closing shut as he lost himself in the kiss, before pulling back and looking deeply into Bard’s eyes in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

“To fuck you,” he whispered, leaving no doubt in Bard’s mind that he was also remembering that conversation. 

Bard’s breath hitched as his vague arousal from their contact immediately exploded into an urgent need as he brought their lips together for a scorching, fervid kiss, as Thranduil began to remove his clothes, ripping off a button in his impatience. When he could only do so much in his position, he growled and raised himself up on the bed.

“Undress,” Thranduil commanded softly, his breathing uneven, humming in satisfaction when he watched Bard raise himself off the bed and quickly take off everything he was wearing as Thranduil’s eyes traced his body hungrily.

“Better?” Bard asked once he divested himself from the last item of clothing.

“Much,” Thranduil purred as he brought his arms around his waist in one fluid movement, pressed Bard into the mattress, sighing when Bard wrapped his legs firmly around his waist, his flowing hair making Bard shiver where it brushed against his chest.

“If you only knew just how much I want you right now,” Thranduil whispered, pressing a small kiss against his lips that rapidly turned more heated as his hand caressed Bard’s waist, hip and then thigh in such an erotic way that Bard could not help but grind himself against the supple body in his arms. “I can barely control myself.”

“Then don’t,” Bard replied breathlessly, relishing Thranduil’s resulting growl.

Thranduil raised himself enough to reach for the vial of oil from the table and place a pillow under Bard’s hips before pressing a garland of messy kisses down Bard’s neck, lingering there while he sucked the sensitive skin into his mouth, as his tongue lapped at the flesh, with such ferocious intensity that Bard was sure it would leave a mark but as his arousal mounted exponentially, he could not bring himself to care. Thranduil reached up for another kiss, as if he was torn between all the places he wanted to kiss him, before suddenly dipping lower, his body brushing deliciously against Bard’s on his descend.

Without any warning, he wrapped his lips around his cock and took him fully in his mouth in one smooth movement as Bard moaned, his hand instinctively flying into his silken hair, his eyes flying shut. At Thranduil’s nudge, he spread his legs as he drowned in the pleasure of Thranduil’s mouth that sucked him so eagerly, barely noticing when a long, oiled finger breached him and began to stretch him. As Thranduil added a second finger, his impatience obvious from his immediate beeline for that special spot that never failed to make him see stars and as he curled his fingers just so, Bard found himself bucking into his mouth as his spine arched off the bed, a low groan ripping from his throat and he suddenly found himself careening dangerously closely to the edge.

“Stop,” he moaned.

Thranduil was in such an extreme state of arousal that Bard could feel his urgent need radiating from him in waves, yet he stopped immediately in spite of his obvious desire, his fingers stilling as he lifted his mouth off his cock, despite Bard’s reflexive whimper at the loss, and looked at Bard with concern.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his breathing still ragged.

“Yes, sorry. I didn’t mean… stop. I meant, I’m close and if you keep doing that…” Bard ground out an explanation as his brain struggled to formulate words. 

When Thranduil made no move to continue, remaining perfectly still while he waited for permission, Bard gave up on words and began to buck against Thranduil’s hand, trying to impale himself further on his long, elegant fingers. To his frustration, Thranduil groaned quietly behind clenched teeth but remained still.

Realising that words would be required after all, Bard focused all his concentration on speech. 

“Thranduil, please… continue. I need to feel you inside me now.”

To his immense relief, he heard Thranduil exhale sharply, leaning over to lick ribbons into Bard’s stomach as he spread his fingers further and continued to stretch him while intermittently brushing against that spot just enough to tease him but not enough to push him over the edge. He suddenly reached a point where that was not enough.

“Take me now. I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” Thranduil asked between soft pants, his voice hoarse.

“ _Please_.”

Bard stared at Thranduil as if in a daze, a whimper falling from his lips when he watched him stroke himself with an oiled hand, the heated look in his lust-blown eyes making Bard impossibly hard. He felt his skin flush when Thranduil leaned forward slightly, his moonlight hair tickling Bard’s skin, and splayed his hands across his thighs, spreading his legs wider before lining himself up so the tip of his rock-hard cock hovered just above his entrance as he closed his eyes for a brief moment and took a deep, steadying breath. 

As soon as he opened his eyes, his gaze fixing on Bard with an intensity that made his breath catch, he began to press himself inside him slowly with a low groan, as Bard felt his thighs tremble minutely from the effort of restraining himself from plunging deep inside him, the indescribable pleasure of feeling Thranduil inside him overshadowing the small amount of pain he felt as his muscles stretched to accommodate him. Thranduil continued to impale him slowly until he buried himself inside him with a small moan, a single drop of sweat sliding from his temple to his jaw. His need to move was so palpable, every muscle in his  
body tense, that the air felt thick with lust. Letting go of his thighs, Thranduil leaned forward to bracket Bard’s face with his hands pressed against the mattress on either side of his head, Bard’s legs wrapping around his waist as if on instinct, as Thranduil leaned down to pepper kisses along his brow, cheek and jaw before pressing his lips against his in a hungry, needy kiss that Bard returned eagerly until Thranduil finally pulled back to look at Bard with undisguised need.

As Bard felt his own need mount, his muscles relaxing around Thranduil’s cock, he brought his hand up to brush a golden lock of hair from Thranduil’s beautiful face, folding it gently behind his ear. On a whim, he reached higher and stroked up the shell of his ear as Thranduil watched him intently, teasing the flesh between his fingertips when he reached the pointed tip, making Thranduil gasp as his hips stuttered forward minutely before he regained control. 

“Move,” Bard whispered as he brought his hands to rest on Thranduil’s waist and rolled his hips against him, making Thranduil swallow loudly.

“I need you to be sure…” Thranduil said through soft pants, his teeth clenched. “I don’t know if I will be able to stop myself once I do.”

Bard felt a full body shiver ripple through him at Thranduil’s words as he bit back a moan. There was something about Thranduil when he was in this state – aroused beyond measure, desperate for release and on the edge of losing control – that never failed to make Bard harder than he had ever been in his life and he felt his cock twitch against his stomach.

“I have never been more sure, now fuck me. Please.”

Thranduil inhaled sharply and pulled out a few inches before thrusting back into him with a measured deliberateness, repeating the movement several times as Bard’s frustration grew. It felt _divine_ but it was not enough and he longed to feel Thranduil lose control as he distantly wondered if Thranduil was restraining himself just to torture him. Snaking his hands around him, he sunk his nails into Thranduil’s backside, delighting in the small shiver the action elicited, before lifting one of his hands and bringing it down forcefully, smacking his cheek with more force than he intended. As Thranduil let out a deep groan, his hips began to move faster as he looked at Bard with an almost frightening intensity. 

“Stop holding back,” Bard begged, too far gone to worry about how he broken he sounded. 

He knew the moment the last sliver of self-control fled Thranduil’s body as he raised himself to an almost-kneeling position and gripping Bard firmly by his thighs, spread wider than before, growled as he began to fuck him with an almost-feral abandon, pulling out until only the tip of his cock remained inside before slamming back in as a string of moans fell from Bard’s lips as he bucked against his thrusts in counterpoint to Thranduil’s hips, wave after wave of piercing pleasure flooded his body.

Suddenly, Thranduil changed the angle of his hips and began to fuck him with hard staccato thrusts, making Bard’s vision go white for a brief moment, as he realised he stopped breathing only when he felt air rush into his lungs, broken moans spilling from his lips as Thranduil continued to pound against that same spot with both surgical precision and a wild brutality that had Bard dizzy and desperate for release. He felt so close to the edge already as he watched Thranduil move with transcendent grace and supernatural strength, his platinum hair dancing wildly around him as he continued to drive himself deep inside him, his chest flushed and his panting now harsh and ragged, his nails sinking into Bard’s thighs in his hard grip. 

“Can you come from just this?” Thranduil suddenly asked, his voice hoarse and strained, as he continued to fuck him hard, his ability to think in his current state, let alone formulate words, taking Bard by surprise.

“I… don’t know,” Bard replied honestly.

“Let us find out,” Thranduil smirked, slowing down his hips as he brought Bard’s feet to rest over his shoulders before gripping him firmly by his thighs once more, and leaned over Bard, stretching out his own legs behind in the process.

Balancing on his toes for leverage, Thranduil resumed fucking him in a deep, punishing rhythm, stretching his legs into an increasingly sharp angle. Any objections that Bard might have had about not being flexible enough for this died on his lips the second he felt the first bolt of paralysing pleasure flood through him, moaning like an animal in heat as Thranduil hit his sweet spot every time as he filled him completely. With every hard thrust, Thranduil bent him further and further until their faces were just inches apart. Sliding his hands off Bard’s thighs, he hooked his legs around his arms and bending them even further, placed both hands firmly on the mattress on either side of Bard, his hips slowly briefly as he adjusted his position.

“Are you alright?” Thranduil rasped, eyes fixed on Bard’s, his mouth parted around harsh pants.

“I’m so close. Don’t stop, please,” Bard begged.

Thranduil raised himself further on his toes and resting most of his weight on his hands, with a deep growl, resumed fucking him mercilessly, plunging inside him more deeply than Bard had ever thought possible, his cock stroking firmly over that bundle of nerves on every single thrust as Bard felt himself fall apart with every movement of Thranduil’s hips, Thranduil’s increasingly load groans pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He could feel that Thranduil was a hair’s breadth from orgasm from his increasingly erratic thrusts and he had never been so grateful for his self-control. 

Just as he felt tremors begin to rack his body, Thranduil brought their lips together in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, bending him even further and when he plunged into him with a particularly hard thrust, his groan echoing obscenely around the room, Bard felt himself fall over the edge.

“ _Thranduil_ ,” he gasped as his whole body contracted.

Almost immediately, he began to climax in waves of searing pleasure, his whole body shuddering, moaning into Thranduil’s mouth as he came harder than ever before in his life, his spine arching almost completely off the bed. As Bard trembled through the endless aftershocks of such intensity that they were almost painful, it took only a few more fast, brutal thrusts before Thranduil followed him into climax, and came with a guttural groan against Bard’s lips as he pumped his hips into him again and again until he was completely spent.

Without waiting to catch his breath, Thranduil kissed him tenderly for a long moment before he released his grip on his body and placed his head to rest on Bard’s chest, his face over his heart, as Bard’s arms immediately flew up to wrap around his back, stretching his legs that he knew would be sore tomorrow but which he could not bring himself to care about. It took Bard a long time to climb out of the haze of such a powerful orgasm as he held on to Thranduil tightly, as if moored to this plane of existence only by his embrace. Finally, when his breathing had returned to normal, his mind was sufficiently clear to understand Thranduil’s question and he recounted his exchange with Alma.

“How fortuitous, then, that your betrothed only wanted you for your money.”

“You know it isn’t like that,” Bard swatted gently at Thranduil’s shoulder in reproach. “She was in a difficult position.”

“No, you were in a difficult position, just now,” Thranduil said as he looked up at Bard with a lecherous smirk before turning his head back to face into the distance. Taking a deep breath, he sighed and continued, “She was in an impossible position. I do not hold her actions against her and I approve of your solution.”

“You do?” Bard asked, smiling.

“I do, though I am not sure how far that dowry will stretch. As I find myself in an exceptionally good mood – my relief at putting this _matter_ behind us contributing to said mood almost as much as the exquisite pleasure you so generously and so often bestow upon me – I believe a wedding gift is appropriate.”

Bard felt himself blush before objecting, “I am sure there is no need. They are certainly not expecting anything.”

“All the same, I wish to do it. They need money and I have money. It would help ameliorate my guilt at stealing you away from her.”

“In other words, you feel you owe Alma a dowry… for me?” Bard laughed.

“If you like,” Thranduil smiled against Bard’s skin, filling him with warmth. “Though whatever I give them will inevitably fall short of your value.”

“Which is?” Bard could not help but ask, his vague insecurities making him eager to hear the answer, even as Thranduil brushed his lips languidly against his skin.

“Immeasurable.”

Smiling, Bard brushed his fingers through his hair as he pressed a kiss to his forehead. Inhaling deeply as he felt enveloped by his scent, so uniquely Thranduil that it made his heart hurt a little, he scooted down until he faced Thranduil, their faces only an inch or so apart.

“So we’re doing this?” Bard asked, grateful that only a hint of uncertainty could be heard in his voice.

Thranduil held his gaze for a long moment, his eyes shimmering with something undefinable, before he leaned forward to brush his nose against Bard’s for a brief moment that made Bard vibrate with affection at the unexpectedly tender gesture.

“Yes,” Thranduil whispered against his lips as he traced small circles into Bard’s lower back with his fingertips as a radiant warmth seeped through Bard’s veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the final full chapter, though I will be adding an epilogue in the coming days.
> 
> We are almost at the end! As always, please let me know what you thought. I live for your kudos and comments.


	17. Epilogue

When Bard first told him he loved him, two years after that night in Dale, almost to the day, he promised Thranduil he would love him until the end of time, filling him with immeasurable warmth, affection and peace, even as an unshakeable doubt began to blossom in his heart. Thranduil wanted his words to be true more than he had ever wanted anything in a very long time and although he knew that not all promises could be kept, as he held him close on that balmy summer night, he tried to shut that doubt away and bury it deep within his heart.

That night, when Bard confessed his love, Thranduil did not say it back. Neither did he say it the next morning or that week or that year. By then, he knew he loved him, more deeply than he could ever put into words, but he did not say it. He _could_ not say it because saying it would make it tangible and bring all of his incessant fears about his inevitable death, which stayed just on the edge of his vision, a small unfocused blur, to the surface. To his immense gratitude, Bard always took it in his stride and he never seemed to mind, and if a sad look would sometimes enter his eyes when they spoke of love, it was gone as quickly as it appeared. If Thranduil were later asked about his biggest regret in life, he would say it was not telling Bard that he loved him before it was too late.

Thranduil learned his mistake many years later, on an unusually cold autumn day at Mirkwood — a perfectly ordinary day in all but one respect. It turned out to be the worst day of Thranduil’s life, etched indelibly in his mind as the day that Bard stopped loving him.

He woke up to find him gone, a servant bringing him Bard’s note as Thranduil collapsed on the floor in tears. He stored the note in his pocket until he could read it without weeping. Once again, he was too late. He ran out of time. Bard stopped loving him that day and his heart broke irreparably. 

Seasons changed, years passed, and Thranduil carried the note everywhere he went, not daring to break the seal, knowing the contents would break his heart, whatever was left of it after that day. And so, it remained there, burning a hole in his pocket, reminding him painfully of Bard every time he felt its outline through the cloth, and just how deeply he missed him.

When he finally opened it, he could barely read a line before breaking down in tears. He could not remember crying that much since the funeral.

_My dearest Thranduil,_

_I write this note as I reflect on all of our happy years together while I observe my ageing reflection in that absurd mirror I made you install above our bed._

_The end of our time together draws near. I can feel it in my bones. I grow colder every day and fighting the changing winds gets harder with each day. It is almost time. I know it hurts you to talk about it so instead I will leave you this note, just in case I never get the chance to say goodbye. As you said, most things will never happen. This one will. And if you are reading this, I am gone._

_I am sorry, sweetheart, that I left you. I fought with my last breath to stay with you for as long I could but I could not outrun the inevitable. Know that I would have done anything to stay with you longer, even for an extra day. I’m sorry I could not._

_You never told me that you loved me. I suppose you ran out of time once more. But my love, I always knew. I always knew you loved me. You told me you loved me with every touch, with every laugh and kind word, the way you would take me to my favourite places when I got too frail to even think about seeing them again. You told me you loved me when you became a father to my children and raised them with me. It brings me immeasurable comfort as I prepare to leave this world that my children will be left with a father who loves them very much and who will be able to watch over them their entire lives. That is the rarest gift one can give a parent._

_If you had seen a sad look upon my face when we spoke of love, it was never because you did not tell me you loved me. On the contrary, it was because I always knew just how deeply you loved me that it saddened me to think that this moment would one day come and you would have to face it alone. I would have done anything to save you from this fate, my love, to be there with you now._

_I never asked you if you regretted it. A lifetime — my lifetime — spent together while you go on living. As I write this, I wonder, was it worth it? Was it worth the pain that I know you’re going through now? Was I worth it? I hope so my love, because you were always worth everything to me._

_You have just walked in with that smug grin of yours plastered on your face so I believe you are either about to try to seduce this old man or tell me a funny story about your day. It’s hard to tell with you, sometimes, which it will be but I cannot wait to find out._

_My only regret about our time together is I never got to meet Legolas properly. I pray for his health and well-being. Hold on to him tight and if you ever get the chance, tell him that I loved him from afar like my own son. Or maybe don’t. I don’t know if he would find it odd, given that he is older than me by at least a thousand years. I will leave that to your discretion._

_You have now settled on the bed, looking at me expectantly, so I’m afraid I am going to have to go now as I expect you to start undressing any minute and I don’t want to miss it. I’m sorry we didn’t have as much time together as we would have liked but know that every second I spent with you was the happiest I have ever been in my life. And I don’t want to miss a second of you, my love, for as long as I am still with you._

_Unlike you, I was never a fan of poetry. I would have liked to leave you a letter of higher literary merit, something that your scribes can study as they write stories of your life. As always, all I can give you is me, as I did those decades ago at Dale, and maybe even earlier at Mirkwood. Perhaps there are things better left unsaid, undissected. Things better left between just us. I love you with all my heart. You are the best thing that have ever happened to me, second only after my children. Because of you, I led a happy life full of love, beauty and joy and I would never trade it for anything. I lack the words to express how grateful I am to you for everything. How grateful I am for you._

_Know that I loved you with every bone in my body and with every fibre of my being. I promised to love you until the end of time and I kept my promise. I did not stop loving you the day my heart stopped. I did not stop loving you that day. My love for you — ceaseless and boundless — is eternal, like you, and even though I am no longer with you, my love for you lives on forever._

_If you should find love again after I’m gone, embrace it, my love. I hope there’s someone who’ll take care of you when I go. I hope there’s someone who will set you heart free, someone to hold when you’re tired. Do not spend eternity alone. All I ask — as selfish as this may be — is that you save a tiny corner of your heart for me and don’t forget our time together, brief as it may have been._

_Okay, now you’re smiling at me in that way that always means you’re up to something so I really must go. I will try to write more when I next have time._

_Forever yours,_

_Bard_

The note lived in Thranduil's pocket for the rest of his days on Middle Earth. When he finally sailed to Valinor, he brought it with him as his most cherished possession. He never forgot Bard. His love, too, was immortal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that’s it! Thank you so much for sticking with the story. If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment! I'm dying to find out what you thought of it.
> 
> This chapter was inspired by the saddest song in the world — He Stopped Loving Her Today by George Jones. I’m not usually a fan of the genre but listen to it and read the words and tell me that this isn’t the saddest song you’ve ever heard in your life. A close runner up is Hope There’s Someone by Antony and the Johnsons, the (slightly modified) lyrics to which I’ve worked into the letter. 
> 
> I tried to have a small misdirection here to give the impression that Bard left him rather than died, but I think the fact that he died is clear from the reference to the funeral onwards. I’d be curious to hear whether people thought that initially or whether you guys knew he died all along.
> 
> I changed the archive warning to “author chose not to use archive warnings” because I didn’t want to spoil the death and I considered whether I needed additional tags for this chapter but as sad as it is, this is the happily ever after ending. They’re literally together until Bard finally dies of old age in his bed. It’s the best any of us can ever hope for... and I feel I’ve just made it more depressing.
> 
> Thank you so much for your support throughout. You have no idea how fantastic you guys are.


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